


BINDINGS

by AWomanOfLetters



Series: Bindings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Complete, Demon Blood Addiction, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, It's Not Gen, Original Character(s), Sexual Violence, Tagging Romance Cuz I was Told If I Have Any Romance In It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 77,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWomanOfLetters/pseuds/AWomanOfLetters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU diverging around E20 of Season 10.</p><p>The MC death is in the past, but relived via flashbacks in the first chapter.</p><p>It's late October, 2015.  The events of mid-May have left Dean alone and adrift.  He and Charlie are on the run from Lucifer's minions.</p><p>At the same time, Dean and Sam are together, working cases.  Sam is being tormented by hallucinations of Lucifer, again; he insists, multiple times, that none of this is real.</p><p>And, in another part of the country, a low-level demon partners up with a man in black to remove a spell.</p><p>PLEASE give feedback!</p><hr/>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paint It Black (Rolling Stones)

The stuttering rain slipped down the windshield of the Impala.  It was an irritating rain that had started by spitting just enough drizzle to make pockmarks on the dust on the glass kicked up by the car roaring down the unpaved road.  Not enough to even warrant intermittent wipers, but enough to make driving difficult as the muddy droplets of water splintered the lights from the headlights into splashes of brightness.  Now it was picking up, the drizzle gaining power. 

As Dean pulled into the weed covered driveway of the small cabin, a sudden gust of wind swirled the first dead leaves of the season around the car.  A few plastered themselves against the glass with soft plops that he could hear when he turned off the engine.

Silence.

He grabbed the bag of groceries and got out of the car, running an absently affectionate hand across Baby’s frame before flicking on his flashlight and heading to the door of the cabin.  He dropped the bag on the old, half-rotting logs that served as a front stoop and dug in his jeans pocket for the key.  He put the key into the lock, then stopped and leaned his forehead wearily against the door.  The wind spattered him in the face with icy rain.

“Follow the checklist, Dean,“ he told the dark forest surrounding him.  Then he turned the key, opened the door, picked up the groceries, and walked in.

Cold.

Dark.

Silent.

Lonely.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered, and kicked the door shut behind him.

First things first.  He dropped the bag and the still-lit flashlight on the table in the small kitchen area, grabbed a kerosene lantern from the counter, shook it to be sure it had fuel, then lit it.  The dim flame slowly grew until it threw light across the kitchen.

He reached into the bag and pulled out the bottle of whiskey and a box of artist’s pastels.  He had learned, through trial and error, that the pastels were quicker to use and more easily controlled when making wards–fiddly angel sigils were sensitive to the slightest errors, and spray paint had an unfortunate tendency to drip.  He began work on the warding.  Between each sigil, he took a slug of whiskey.

Fire next.  

He crouched down by the fireplace, grabbed kindling, and stared blankly for a moment at the empty grate.  Then, clenching his jaw, he laid the kindling carefully, as if it were precious, lit a match, and held it up to the kindling until it burned his fingers. He dropped the match, cursing softly.  Luckily, the kindling had caught.  He tilted the bottle to his lips and felt the cheap liquor burn its way down his throat.  When the kindling was going well, he placed a log on, then stood up, leaned against the side of the mantle, and stared at the flames.

Red.  Blue.  White.

_~~Crowley’s blood dripping from the First Blade, pooling on the floor next to his body..  Cas standing resolute before him, angel blade in hand, guarding the door.  "I can’t let you do this, Dean,“ he says softly.  Dean feints with the Blade.  Cas blocks, easily.  Dean’s panicked internal chant of STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY blends with the raging KILL KILL KILL from the Mark, overwhelming him.  He growls, “Out of my way, dammit, Cas!” and swings, precisely, with the Blade.  A line of vivid red blood and blue-white Grace follows the edge of the Blade down Cas’s arm, and he can see bone peeking through the flesh.  Then:  he is grabbing Cas’s sword arm, pushing it up and away, strength fueled by the Mark.  Cas’s grimace of pain as he twists the wrist and the angel blade clatters to the floor.  His arm arcs overhead, then plunges towards Cas’s open chest.  STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY and the urgent heartbeat KILL KILL KILL are joined by a mental scream of NOOOOOO!!! as the Blade sinks deep into Cas’s body.  Blood pouring out.  Grace shining around the Blade.  Cas sinking to his knees.  The Blade rising again and plunging into the flesh again.  Cas’s mouth rounding in a soft, surprised, “Oh!”  Cas’s brilliant blue eyes, filled with shock, horror, betrayal.  The final, gut-wrenching flash of light pouring from Cas’s eyes and mouth.  His own heart shattering into a thousand, thousand tiny pieces~~_

Dean slammed his fist against the stone mantlepiece to stop the flashback.  Then again and again and again. 

“SHIT!!” he screamed at the pain, and shook his hand, blood from the scraped skin spattering his shirt.

“Okay.  Okay,” he panted, recovering, pushing the memory away.  "Light.  Wards.  Heat.  Charlie next.“  Remember the checklist.

He circled the main room of the cabin, peering at the screen of the cheap cellphone, searching for the spot with the best signal.  Amazingly, the kitchen table was in a sweet spot.  He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, rummaging in the grocery bag for the second whiskey bottle.

Charlie answered on the second ring.  "Dean!” 

Dean leaned the now-open throat of the bottle against his forehead, rubbing it back and forth.  "Charlie…“  It was always a relief to actually hear her voice, to realize she was–against all the odds–still alive.

"I’ve got a new phone.  I’ll call you back in a minute.”  She hung up.  He blinked at the phone in his hand.  Dammit.  That phone number had lasted–what?  A week?  Two, at most.  That meant he probably needed a new one, too.  He drank from the bottle, waiting for the phone to ring.  When it rang, he stabbed at the answer button urgently, absurdly fearful that if he didn’t answer immediately, someone–angel, demon, Lucifer himself–would get her.

“Charlie–!”

“Dean!  Whew, that was close!”

“Do I need to move again?”  The thought exhausted him.

“Oh–no, no, the house is okay, Dean.  I think.  Which one is it?  Number six, right?”

He pulled out the list from his pocket and squinted at it.  "Yup.“  When they had realized that things–serious, deadly things–were tracking them down, he and Charlie had set up two lists, one with ID numbers and coordinates, that he had, and one with ID numbers, order numbers, and number of days, that was in Charlie’s care.  Charlie had randomized the second list, both in order and in number of days.  Then she had lectured him about how "random” really wasn’t, in the computer world, and chattered about Bayesian algorithms, seeds for random walks, and hashing strategies until his head was spinning and he begged her to stop.  Then they had made a similar pair of lists of safe houses for her.  It seemed to have worked, though the time he had had only two days at one cabin before moving to the next had drained him.

“How are you doing, Dean?”  The concern in her voice warmed him, made him realize that not everyone was gone.  

_~~“Everybody dies!”  Metatron chuckled happily.~~_

Dean winced at the memory.  He took a drink.  "Fine.  I’m fine, Charlie.“  He frowned at the wall.  Lying.  Again.  He couldn’t–wouldn’t–tell her about the flashbacks.

"No, you’re not.  Are you drinking?”

“What if I am?” he shot back hoarsely, stung.  "Is it any wonder?“

There was a silence, then Charlie sighed.  "I just…worry about you, Dean.  Well, I worry about myself, too, of course!  But *I* haven’t lost my best friend, my brother, my home…well, yes, lost my home, too, I suppose, but…” Her voice trailed off.  She was so afraid of poking at that wound, he could hear it, could feel it, and it brought out the awkward in her.  So of course, he had to reassure her.

“I’m fine, kiddo.  We’ll do it.  We’ll find a way…we always do…”

 _We always do when “we” is “Sam and me”,_ his traitorous mind reminded him.

“Dean, have you thought about trying the dream root tea again?”

He sighed.  "We’ve been over that, Charlie.  Over and over again.  It only works if you’re close, physically, to the person.  And we can’t do that.  If we’re close enough to him, we’re way too close to Lucifer.“  He gritted his teeth at the thought.

"I know, I know.  I was just…hoping…maybe you’d thought of something.”

“Nope.  I’ve got nothing,” Dean said wearily.

“I’ve got nothing, either,” Charlie responded sadly.  There was a pause, then she went on, obviously thinking out loud, “What we need is…is…we need a…a ‘professional occult researcher’,” and he could hear the quotation marks around the title in her voice.  "To…to…do deep research while we’re running around trying to keep alive.“

Dean barked out a cynical laugh.  "Might as well wish for the moon and stars while we’re at it.  We might have better luck with that.”

“It’s worth looking into!”  Charlie sounded offended.  Then she chattered on, her native optimism burning right back.  "In fact, I think I’ll give it a try.  It’s better than just hanging on, like we’re doing now.  And it’ll give me a break from stomping out Croatoan research labs.“

Dean grunted.  Killing committed, enthusiastic, duped medical researchers who were being used by Lucifer wasn’t his idea of a good time, but that’s what they were doing.  In between ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and assorted odd monsters, that is.  It’s what the entire Hunter community was doing–trying to stay a step ahead of Lucifer.  Thank God he didn’t have the Horsemen this time around; they had apparently stayed curled up in fetal balls after their last go-round. Except for Death, of course. But Death was an enigma, always was.

"You’ll have to find your own hobby, though!  I think this one is better assigned to me.”

“Yeah, well.  Sammy was our ‘professional occult researcher’.  Good luck finding another one.”  Dean took another gulp of whiskey.

“Um.  Okay!  That’s what I’ll do!  So.  You have thirteen days at this house before you have to move onto number…”  He could hear paper rustling on her end of the line.  "Twenty-two.“  He looked at his list.  Twenty-two was five states away from number six, his current location.  "Check in with me every couple of days, remember!  And, Dean…”

“Hmmm?”  His voice was getting slurred.  It took a *lot* of liquor to get him to this point these days.

“Take care of yourself.  Don’t hole up in the cabin like a…like a…a wounded badger!  Go out.  Take walks.  Find a job to do.  Just…you matter.  To us.  To me.”

“I’m touched,” he said sardonically, raising an eyebrow.

“Well.  You do.  So there.  Bye, bitch!”

“Bye, yourself.”

The call ended.  Dean sat for a few minutes longer, listening to the singing silence growing louder and louder.  Finally:

“Fuck this shit.  Time for bed.”  He staggered up and headed for the covered sofa.  He eyed it dubiously, wondering if he could just sleep on top of the dusty old sheet, then sighed, braced himself for the inevitable, and yanked the dust cover off in one swift move.  A cloud of dust filled the air, and he covered his eyes with one arm, coughing and sneezing and waving away the dust with the other.  And…

_~~Dark.  The air is filled with fine, gritty dust that sifts into his eyes, his nose, under his clothes, in his hair.  He coughs, then coughs again, then doubles up in a spasm of coughing, whooping, gasping for air.  He rips at his shirt in a panic, quickly tearing off a piece to tie around his jaw to try and act as a filter.  "Sam?  Sammy!!!“ he calls out wildly.  No answer.  There are sounds of shifting material around him.  He reaches out blindly, hitting something a mere foot above his head.  He feels around, looks around, slitting his eyes so he can keep the grit and dust from them.  Over there!  Not light, exactly, just ‘less dark’.  He inches his way towards the 'less dark’ and begins carefully digging, gently moving smaller pieces of debris to one side or the other, and scooping handfuls of dust away.  He slides under a large, tilted chunk, recognizing the mosaic tiling of the entryway to the bunker.  'Less dark’ is slowly becoming 'visibly lighter’, and his eyes are adjusting.  Finally, after what seems like hours, days, years of slow, careful movements, when he reaches out again in between two drunkenly leaning beams, the air feels…lighter.  When he snakes his head out between the same beams, he can tell he has finally dug his way out.  Panting, he wedges the rest of his body through the small opening, scraping skin and joints and ripping his clothes, until he is all the way out.  He slowly, agonizingly straightens up, squinting his eyes against the dusty twilight of the outside world, peering through the hanging, lingering dusty haze at what had been the Men of Letters bunker.  Bunker no more.  Now a twisted, bent, broken maze of beams and girders and brick and glass, blasted beyond recognition, covered with almost six inches of fine dust and millions of shreds of paper.  He scans the pile of rubble with horrified eyes.  "Sammy?!  SAMMY?!?!”  But still…no answer.~~_

The memory faded.

“Damn!” he growled to himself and slumped onto the sofa.  No Sam.  No Cas.  No Bobby or Ellen or Jo or Rufus.  He punched a musty-smelling cushion from the sofa into something vaguely resembling a pillow, shook out the dusty sheet again, took one last swig from the bottle he had carried, without realizing it, to the sofa, and laid down, pulling the sheet over him.

“Dean…”  It was Cas’s voice.

Dean winced.  "Stop it!“ he whispered angrily to himself.  "Stop with the bloody memories, idiot!”

“Dean.”  The memory voice got louder, and Dean twisted his head into the pillow, willing the memory away, fearful of the flashback to come.

“DEAN!”  It was loud, close, and a hand shook his shoulder, gently at first, then more urgently.  Dean slowly turned over, opening his eyes.

Not a memory.

NOT A MEMORY!

“Cas…?” he asked, his heart pounding with a rush of sudden, unexpected wild joy.


	2. Dreamer (Supertramp)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also late October, 2015. Sam and Dean are intermittently working a case involving the mysterious deaths of medical researchers. Or are they? Then Sam's hallucination of Lucifer returns unexpectedly.
> 
> * * *

“Well, thank you for your time, Detective Rimes.  If you think of anything else, give us a call.”

Dean handed his faux FBI business card to the detective.  Sam flipped his pocket notebook closed and stashed it and his pen in the inside pocket of his FBI costume, ran his hand through his hair, nodded to the detective, and followed Dean to the door.  Dean palmed it open, then held it for Sam.  They strode down the hall and out of the station.

“Nothing,” Dean groused.  "No clues, no witnesses, just four bodies with claw marks from head to toe and no witnesses, nobody heard anything, _nothing_.  No sulfur, so not demons.  No bites, so not vamps or werewolves.“

“And this is the fifth scene like this in the last six weeks.  Damn,” said Sam.

They walked across the street towards Baby, narrowly evading a car rocketing down the street.  The car’s stereo was blasting out a song, which Sam paid no attention to, but Dean stopped, spun around, listened for a moment, and then spun back, singing, “If you stay the night, oh, yeah, we’ll make the wrong seem right, so come on now and rock me!” He grimaced and started fiercely playing air guitar.  "Rock me!  Roll me through the night!“ When they reached Baby, he thumped out a drum solo on her hood before opening the door.

“Dude. Get in the car. You’re scaring the locals.” Sam shook his head and smiled as they climbed in.

“Burgers and beer?” asked Dean.  "There was a good looking little pub down the road a few miles. Maybe they’ll have pie.“

"Sure, sure,” said Sam.  He stared thoughtfully out the window as Dean started the car rolling.  He began unconsciously drumming his fingers on his thighs.  Finally, he turned back to his brother and said, “I don’t get it.  Five cases where some sort of monster kills a team of medical researchers.  And they’re scattered across the country.  No connection, no clues.  There’s got to be something.”  He leaned over the seat and rummaged through the box of files in the back seat, bringing out the latest ones.  He settled them in his lap and began flipping through them.

“Lupus research.  Search for a new cure for hepatitis.  Cosmetics testing on monkeys.  New ways to deal with GERD.  Brain-blood barrier research.  Not a thing in common, except that it’s medical research and all the researchers are dead.”  He stacked the files again and thumped them with frustration.

“Don’t forget the wiped hard drives and deleted cloud backups,” Dean added, looking at Sam and raising an eyebrow. He swung the car into the restaurant parking lot.

“Yeah, and that’s seriously weird,” said Sam.  "Whoever heard of monsters doing something like that?“

Dean had already gotten out of the car, but here he leaned in the window, smiled, and said, "We’ll figure it out, Sammy boy!  We always do!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbled softly.  "Maybe we should have Charlie do some background digging, see if there’s some deep connection.“

"That’s the thinking!” Dean caroled out, striding to the restaurant door.  
…  
Sam was seriously full after they left the restaurant.  He was trying to read his Twitter feed, but it was hard to do while Dean was crooning out “Oooh, Oooh, oooh, Jamie’s crying!” in a falsetto and drumming his hands on the steering wheel.  While it was annoying, it was also very…reassuring.  It was like getting a younger Dean back, the way he had been jamming to his favorites over the past few weeks.  

Every once in a while, Dean would throw him a wide smile.  Finally, Sam smiled back, turned off his phone, and joined in on the last chorus.

“Hmmm.”  The soft voice from the back of the car was thoughtful.  "Van Halen.  It’s okay,“ the voice said dubiously, "but I’d rather listen to Def Leppard or Thin Lizzy.  Could you make him change tapes?”  There was a pause, then:  "Did you miss me, bunk buddy?  I’m baaack.“

Sam froze in terror.  He balled his hands into fists, clenched his jaw, and thought to himself:  

_No.  Not real.  This_ _is_ _not real.  You’re imagining things._

"I was lonely,” the voice continued plaintively.  "It’s been a long, long time.“

It had been–what?  Four years.  Four years, and here he was, plunged with no notice right back into a place of never-ending fear.  But why?  Things were quiet.  There were no world-ending crises to worry about.  The Mark of Cain was gone.  Crowley and Rowena were silent, Cas was off doing whatever angels do, Charlie was chasing a reported zombie, Dean was himself again.  The only thing going on was this puzzling pair of monsters who had a hard-on for medical researchers.  So why now, of all times?

_Don’t respond.  Don’t look.  If you ignore it, it’ll go away._

"Aw, Sam!  Don’t ignore me!  Haven’t we been through this whole thing before?  You know, and I know, that if I keep pestering you, you’ll give in.  So why not make it easy on yourself, save some time…talk to me, Sammy!”

Sam muttered to Dean, between his teeth, “Stop the car.”

Dean glanced at him.  "What’s that, Sam?  I didn’t hear you.“  He gestured at the radio.

"Now, Sammy, you know that you can’t get away…”  The soft voice was closer, and Sam could see…it…him…arms braced against the front seat, his lean head well inside Sam’s personal space.

Sweat broke out on Sam’s forehead, his heart pounded faster and faster, and his breathing came quicker and shallower as the seconds passed.

“Stop the car! he grated out again.

"What?  Why?”

He couldn’t take it any more.

“ _DEAN_!!!” he roared.  "Stop the car!!!   _NOW_!!“

Dean, broken out of his musical interlude, threw the steering wheel into a sharp turn to the shoulder while slamming on the brakes.

"What the hell!  What is it?  What’s going on, Sam?” 

Sam was opening the door before the car came to a stop, frantic.  He stumbled out and staggered to Baby’s hood, and leaned, hard, over his clenched fists.  He was hyperventilating now, his breath puffing out in spasmodic “whoofs”.  "Not real, not real, not real,“ he chanted in a low, trembling voice.

Dean had leaped out of the car, too, and strode forward to the other side of the car.  "Sam?  Sammy?  You okay?  What the hell is going on?”  His deep voice was filled with concern.  "Talk to me.  What’s ‘not real’?  Dude, you’re freaking me out.“

Sam could see Lucifer-as-Nick out of the corner of his eyes, his lean body settled nonchalantly against the side of the car.  He was whistling tunelessly and playing with a yo-yo, slowly dropping it down, then giving a small, quick yank to send it whirling back up again.  He was smiling gently, looking at Sam, and Sam panicked, realizing he had turned his head and was looking back at him.

"Dean.  It’s back.   _He's_ back,” he said hoarsely.  He focused on his brother like a lifeline–if he stared at Dean, that meant he wasn’t looking at–reacting to–the hallucination.

“ _Who's_ back?  Dammit, Sam, you’re not making any sense.  Give me something to work with here.”

“Lucifer,” Sam choked out.  He jerked his head significantly to his left to indicate where the hallucination was.  Lucifer-as-Nick smiled and waggled his fingers.  "Oh, look, it’s big bro!  Everything all hunky dory in Dean-land?“

Dean’s hazel eyes widened at Sam’s response.  He cautiously craned his head to peer over the top of the car to where Sam had indicated.  Of course, there was nothing there for him to see.  "Lucifer.” he said with dangerous calm.  He worked his jaw muscles for a second, then said, “Back?”  Sam nodded, wordlessly.  "Son of a bitch,“ Dean breathed.

"Yeah,” Sam half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Dean, I’ve got no idea why.  Things are good right now!  I don’t know why he–it–is back.”

“I got nothing, Sammy,” was Dean’s response.  He puffed through his lips and ran a thoughtful hand across the stubble on his jaw.  "Well.  Look.  You know it’s not real, right?“

Sam nodded again.

Lucifer-as-Nick was peevish.  "All right, all right, yes, I’m not real.  We all got that.  I’m your subconscious, Sammy, and something’s eating at you enough to bring me back.  Like, oh, maybe…” He suddenly appeared beside Dean.  "I’m not real, but none of this–“ he twirled a finger around his head to encompass their surroundings.  ”–is real either.“

Sam closed his eyes, sighing.  "He’s saying–all over again–that none of this is real.  Been there, done that, nothing new.”

“Oh, but Sammy!”  Lucifer-as-Nick was eager.  "It’s not pretend torture this time!  Honest!  Something’s _off_ , and you know it!“

Sam took a deep breath and braced himself.

"Dean.  Hit me.”  He locked eyes with his brother.

“What?!?”

“Hit me.  Hard.  Remember how I could control it if I pressed on that wound on my hand?”  Dean nodded.  "Real pain.  Hit me.“

"Damn.  My brother _asking_ me to hit him, and I don’t get to enjoy it,” Dean told the world with a humorous expression.  But his eyes were worried.  He moved around the car towards Sam.  "Are you sure?“  Sam nodded.  "Okay, then.”  Dean slammed him in the jaw with his fist.  Sam staggered back, fell to his knees, then worked his way up again, roughly shaking his head.  But Lucifer-as-Nick was still there, leaning towards him, saying in a loud stage whisper, “Pssst!  Sam!  Ask him about the "vacation”!“  The hallucination put the word in air quotes.  "Sand on the beach, Sammy!  Remember?”

“Didn’t work,” Sam told Dean breathlessly.  "Again.  Harder.“

Dean pressed his lips together, then shrugged.  "Your call, Sammy.”  He swung again.  
…

Sam groaned and opened his eyes.  He was seated on the ground, leaning against Baby.  His cheek and jaw ached, there was dried blood crusted under his nose, and he could tell that a fine shiner was growing around his left eye.  Dean was sitting on Baby’s hood, staring into space and drinking a Margiekugel.  At Sam’s groan, he looked down at him, hopped down to the ground, and dug a beer out of the cooler to hand to him.

“Hurt?”

Sam groaned again.  "Oh, yeah.“

"Good. That’s _real_ , Sammy.”  He crouched down to look Sam in the eyes.  "You could probably poke at it now and then for a few days, and that’ll do the trick.  Right?  No Lucifer hanging around lurking in the background now?“

Sam looked around.  The hallucination was gone.  He shook his head and rested the cold beer bottle against his aching cheek. “Gone for now.  thank God.”

The hallucination was gone.  

For the moment.


	3. Magic Man (Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also late October, 2015 - Original character Dani, a low-level demon, makes a deal offering her occult researching services to a "moderately successful New York literary agent", in exchange for...?
> 
> * * *

**A/N: Eeee![Pic of anime-style Dani by Jack Wayne](https://www.instagram.com/p/BWVoeMtgYbg/?taken-by=jack_wayne002)**

Dani paused at the doorway of the cocktail lounge, unconsciously smoothing the fitted bodice of her royal blue cocktail dress.  She loved the color–it highlighted the (current) blue of her eyes and complemented her (current) short red-brown hair.  She liked this body, she thought absently.  Small, petite, cute.  Much better than her original.

_~if you like it so much, you’d better take care of it, bitch.  It’s mine, after all~_

_Keep your snark to yourself, Innie-Me.  I’ll do what I want with it.  It was yours.  Now it’s mine._

She swept the room with a glance.  There was Frank seated at a table for two, shockingly handsome as always, chin-length blond hair and sharp Nordic features.  He saw her, and raised his glass to her, subtly angling to point out a man lounging at the bar.  She nodded in return, and strolled toward him while surreptitiously checking out the man he had indicated.

Forties?  Fifties?  Short, trim build; neat black hair, black beard, black mustache, dark eyes; black tailored suit, black brocade silk shirt, dark tie, black shoes…there was even a black overcoat draped over the bar next to him.  She rolled her eyes and twitched a tiny smile in amusement at the affectation.  But, affectation aside, he had…“presence” was the word.  Once you saw him, he kind of drew your eyes.

As she walked, she mentally reviewed the brief she had memorized.  Used to power and luxury; dangerous and untrustworthy; impatient with fools; known to be devious and highly manipulative; a cheerful and thorough-going hedonist; thought dead in the May disaster–she momentarily shuddered at the memory of how things had been thrown into chaos after that.  He had reappeared two months ago, not dead, much to everyone’s surprise.  He had not, of course, returned to his former high position.  Her sources had mentioned frequent sudden disappearances.  Some had noticed that he seemed to have amnesia; he had flatly denied knowing old subordinates.  She and Frank had researched that little quirk and quietly fixed it.  That would be a selling point…

“Frank,” she greeted her partner when she reached the table.  She moved her chair so that she was in line of sight of the mark–okay, “potential client” was a more polite way of categorizing him.  She sat down, crossing her legs so the slit in her retro fifties-style dress displayed them nicely.

Frank smiled a slow, lazy smile.  "Dee.  You’re looking elegant as always.“

This time, she openly rolled her eyes, and it was exasperation, rather than amusement.

“Cut the crap, Frank.  Business.  Our…potential client…is rumored to be…receptive…to both men and women.  Shall we flip a coin?  Heads, you’re the point of contact, tails, I am?”

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin, and said, “Ugh.  Frankly, Dee, I am _not_ interested in guys, you know it, and I’d rather just go straight to you handling it.  Besides, this job is a big gamble.  There’s no way of knowing if it’ll pan out, no matter what we do.”

No surprise that he wanted her to take the lead.  In fact, given the way he had been slacking off lately, it would have surprised her if he had stepped up to do some sales pitches.  She pursed her lips in irritation.  

_So.  Show time._

_~well, at least we’re not stuck with Frank for the evening~_

_Shut up._

She pushed her alter-ego down again.

Dani looked at the client across the room, keeping her eyes on him until his wandering glance chanced on her, at which point she gave him a small smile, and slowly looked him from head to toe and back up again.  She glanced back at Frank and the table, and gave a small click of irritation.

“You didn’t order me a drink?”

He shook his head.  She sighed and stood up.

“Here I go.”

“Knock him dead, partner!”  Frank raised his glass to her again.

She sauntered over to the bar.  When she got there, she stood next to him, just inside societal norms of personal space.  She gestured to the bartender, who put down the glass she was drying and came over.

“What can I get you, ma'am?”

“Scotch and soda, please.”

A hand covered hers on the bar.  "Please.  Allow me.“  It was a suave, mellow voice, slightly rough, with an English accent.  She turned to look at him.  He smiled at the bartender and flashed two fingers at her.  "Drink for the lady, and another for me.”

“Thank you,” Dani said happily.

“My pleasure,” he replied, lifting his glass in salute, raising his eyebrows.

She glanced at him with a small smile and locked eyes, then swiftly glanced away.  Suddenly, she was intensely aware of him.  She could smell his scent, a mix of men’s cologne and a tiny whiff of sulfur.  

_Oh, dear.  This could be awkward._

_~what?~ asked Innie-Me._

_I’m…um…very attracted to him._

_~and that’s a problem?  better him than Frank~_

_You really don’t like Frank, do you?_

_~eh~_

“Jamie Redmond, moderately successful New York literary rep,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

“Danielle Lippmann, equally ‘moderately successful’ freelance research analyst,” she replied with a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.  It was dry and warm and solid, and she noticed the impeccably neat fingernails.  In fact, she was noticing a lot of things about him that attracted her, now that she was close.  "My friends call me Dani.“

"Forgive me for noticing, love, but weren’t you just with that extraordinarily pretty young man?”

She sat on the bar stool next to him and spun it around so that she could lean on her elbows on the bar behind her while she looked back at Frank.  She frowned slightly, pursing her lips.

“Oh, yes, he’s a very pretty boy,” she said sourly.

Redmond cocked an eyebrow at her, intrigued.  "But…“ he prompted her.

"Well.  Frankly, I _loathe_ pretty boys in general.”  She turned to look at him, and paused, distracted, as his dark brown eyes locked with hers.  She recovered and continued, “They usually know they’re pretty, y'know?  They think they’re ‘all that’.  And they think that’s enough.  Ugh.”  She looked back at Frank, a perfect representative of what she was talking about, and frowned again thoughtfully.  "I like my men more…mature.  Mature men know how to make a lady…feel good…about herself.“  She slid a glance at Redmond.  He was intensely focused on her, leaning in. She suddenly realized what she had said and how it could be taken, and blushed.

_Damn.  Well.  Might as well enjoy myself with this pitch, eh?  Business and pleasure._

"You, for instance.  You seem–on our very short acquaintance!–to have…depth.”

He laughed lightly.  ”'Depth’.  I’m not sure how to take that.“

Dani snorted and glanced back at Frank.  "Well, at the least it means you don’t seem to be so self-absorbed that chatting with you is a chore.  Like with my business partner over there.”  She waved a hand to indicate Frank.

“Oh, I assure you, my dear.  I have a vast store of interesting chat!”  He winked. “And I am…very 'mature’.”  He smiled slowly at her and Dani blushed again.

She reached out and took his hand, turning it palm up.  "So let’s see.  'Mature…’  What does your lifeline say?“  She peered down at his hand, and lightly, slowly traced the lifeline with a finger.  The gentle, sensual touch made her swallow.  She looked up at his face, smiling, slightly breathless, then looked back down.  She followed the crease on his palm to the edge of his hand, then puffed a small, amused breath and turned the palm over.  "Now look at that!  It goes around the hand!  A very, very long life!”  She continued, “That is, if you believe in that sort of silliness.”

“Oh, quite long.”  He was amused.  She knew why.

She stared down at his hand, which she was still holding.  The flirting was fun, but, really, it was more than time to make the sales pitch.  She took a deep breath and plunged right in.  Damn, she hated sales!

“So.  I have a business proposition for you.”

There was silence.  Then he was pulling his hand from hers.  She looked up at him, and watched, fascinated, as his expression changed from warm and very interested to something slightly chilly.  He tilted his head back to look down at her.

“Oh, dear, pet.  I do think you may have gotten the wrong impression.”  His drawling voice was suddenly harder.  "I have a policy, darling, of never, ever, paying for things I can get for free.“

Dani was appalled.

“Oh.  My.  God.  I am so sorry!  That definitely came out the wrong way!”  

_~what did you expect?  coming on to him all hot and heavy, and then saying that?  i’d think you were a hooker, too~_

_Good lord, you’re a judgemental prude, Innie-Me.  Go away._

She waved her hands in wild negation, took a deep breath, leaned forward, and placed a finger against his lips to stop him.  "I didn’t mean _that_!“  She moved her head so it was next to his, and whispered into his ear, "If I look at you out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the golden bindings wrapped around your wrists, Crowley.  You are someone’s bitch, and I think we both know whose.  I can help find a way to remove the binding–”

His hand shot out to pin her wrist down on the bar.  His eyes and voice were cold as he asked harshly, “Who _exactly_ are you, pet?  And what do you think you could possibly do for me?  Why should I trust you?”

Dani sat back down on the bar stool and bit her lip, looking at him.  "First, don’t trust anybody.  Second:  I’m Dani.  Low mid-level demon.“  She flashed beetle-blacks at him.  "Dual masters in Library Science and Computer Science from MIT, 1999.  NSA research analyst for ten years–before my deal came due.  Third:  I can research the hell out of anything.  If there’s a way to remove that binding, I’ll find it.”

He slitted his eyes suspiciously at her.  "And just what, my darling Dani, would you want in return for doing such a…large…favor?“  He leaned on her wrist in emphasis.

She said intensely, "When– _if_ –you get back in power, let me be your personal research analyst and intelligence-meister.  Give me your hardest puzzles to crack, your most elusive enemies to track.  Give me hard–impossible–cases to solve.  I’ll be in heaven.”

He blinked.  Then he rubbed his beard thoughtfully.  "Let me see if I’ve got this straight.  Not wealth,“ he said pensively.  She shook her head.  "Not power.”  She shook her head again.  "Not even–dare I say it–glory.“  He tilted a skeptical eyebrow.

"Nah.  Puzzles.  Give me puzzles.”

There was a pause.  He slowly released her wrist and relaxed back against the bar.  If anything, he seemed more amused and interested than before.  He shook a finger at her.  "Why on earth should I believe you can do this, eh, pet?“

"Up until a month ago, you truly thought you were Jamie Redmond, literary agent.  You would disappear for days, then return with no memory of those days.  But then you woke up one day remembering who you are, and what was happening during those missing days.”

He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.  "And this would be relevant…how?“

"We–well, I–” She paused and turned her head to glare over at Frank.  ” _I_ researched that little part of the spell and found the way to break it.“  She looked back at Redmond–Crowley–and smiled a small, crooked, triumphant smile.  "Consider it proof of product.”

“Ahhhhh,” Crowley breathed.  "And an _excellent_ proof of product it is, Dani-girl.“  He smiled at her.

“So.”  Dani tapped the bar with a fingernail.  "Do we have a deal?“ she asked.  "I break the binding.  You make me your head research honcho.”

“Y'know, my love, I think we do.”  He stood up, and patted his suit pocket.  "I always keep a standard contract here–what say we sign that puppy and you get to work _tout suite?_ “

Dani stood up, also.  They were very close.  She placed her hand on his to stop him from pulling out the contract.  "Y'know…I do like the more traditional way of sealing a deal,” she said suggestively, looking up at him.  

He smiled slowly at her, his eyelids drooping down sensually.  "I appreciate people who appreciate traditions,“ he murmured with an amused lilt.

She reached out and pulled him slowly toward her by his tie.  Her breath was suddenly coming short and quick, her heart was pounding, and she was intensely aware of him–his breathing, his scent, his eyes, his overall physical presence.  She slowly traced his lips with a finger, then leaned in and kissed him, a long, slow, sensuous kiss.  As she broke away, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and nipped.  He drew in a sharp breath, then slid his hand around her waist and pulled her body closer to his.

"Dani-girl,” he breathed huskily, “As memory serves me, that wasn’t–quite–done right.  We obviously need to re-do it.”  He leaned his head down and kissed her again, longer and deeper.  Her body sagged against his in pleasure and longing, every sense tingling.  The bar faded away from her senses.

When they finally broke apart, he murmured into her ear, “You do know that a deal of this magnitude with someone at my level usually requires a…bit more…than just a kiss to properly seal it.”  He cupped her chin with a hand and ran his thumb gently down her jawline.

She locked eyes with him again and smiled.  "Oh, I had an idea.“

"Then I suggest we adjourn this meeting to a more suitable venue.”  He pulled her even closer, and leaned in for another passionate kiss.

“What an excellent suggestion!” she breathed when they were done.

He snapped his fingers, and they disappeared from the bar.


	4. Bring Me To Life (Evanescence)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets the story of his resurrection from Cas. They contact Charlie, but things go awry.
> 
> * * *

Dean swung his legs off the sofa, sitting up.  After a long silence, he said, “Cas.  You’re looming.”

Cas blinked.  "Oh.  Sorry!“  He sat down on the coffee table facing Dean.  The two mirrored each other, forearms on thighs, hands dangling between their knees.

_Alive!  He’s alive!_

“New trench coat.  I approve.  Your last one was like the world’s lumpiest sack of potatoes.”

_Cas comes back–ALIVE!!–and that’s what you say?_

Cas looked down at his coat with a bemused smile.  "Yes.  Well.  The old one didn’t survive.  I found this one at the Salvation Army store.  It seemed…appropriate.“

"So God decided to resurrect you again, eh?”

Cas’s head drooped, and he stared at his hands intently, frowning.

“It appears so.  I don’t understand.  I don’t know…what is it He wants from me?  Why does He keep bringing me back?  I must be missing something, doing something wrong.  It must be a punishment for something I have done.”  Cas sounded plaintive, puzzled.  He glanced up at Dean.  "WHY?” He was grasping for reassurance, it seemed, some definitive reason.

Dean shrugged, and ran his hand through his hair.

“I don’t have an answer, man.  I think he just likes having you running around.  You’re God’s special angel or something like that.”  He winked.  Then he tilted his head and peered at Cas through narrowed eyes.  "So are you all graced up?  Wings back to normal?  All repaired?“

"Yes.  I seem to be…even more than before.  Your angel wards are having little effect on me.  They itch, mostly.”

“Ahah!  That’s how you got in–I was wondering!”

“Dean.  Why do you have angel wards up?”  

“Um.  Well.  Your girlfriend Hannah _really_ doesn’t like me now.”  Dean stopped abruptly, turning his head away and closing his eyes in pain.

“Hannah is not my ‘girlfriend’,” Cas said firmly.  "She is…it’s an angel thing.  Hard to explain.  It’s complicated.  Why does she 'really’ not like you now?  I don’t understand.“

_~~Blood and grace on the First Blade.  Cas’s body slumping to the ground.  Actinic white light flooding the room, pouring from Cas’s eyes and mouth.~~_

Dean clenched his jaw, refusing to speak, refusing to look at Cas.  He stared blindly into space, willing himself not to remember.

"Dean?”  Cas leaned forward, concerned.  He angled his head around to bring it into Dean’s view, as if willing Dean to look at him.  Dean couldn’t resist the unstated pull, and looked directly into Cas’s vivid blue eyes, his own dark and bleak.  His heart lurched, and he quickly looked at Cas’s cheekbone instead.

“Cas.  I _killed_ you.”  His voice was harsh.  


“Ah.“  Cas smiled gently.  "But that wasn’t you.  Not really.”  He reached out and touched Dean’s cheek with a fleeting soft touch.  "That was the Mark.  And fear and desperation.  You were trying to stop Sam.“

Dean exploded onto his feet and started pacing the room.  "No excuse, Cas!  I jammed that blade into your gut, watched you _die_ , man, and for what–?!  Too late.  I was too late.  I couldn’t stop him.  I didn’t get there in time.”  His voice was anguished.

“Dean!  Stop.  What’s past is…past.”

Dean stopped to lean his forearm against the mantlepiece of the fireplace, and stared into the grate.  The fire had gone out.  There was a long silence.

“Did…did it…hurt?”  He finally asked.

“Oh, yes.  It was quite…shocking, actually,” Cas mused.  "Much more painful than that time I was exploded by Lucifer, for instance.“

"Gee, thanks.  Way to make a guy feel better about killing his best friend.”  But he had to snort a small laugh–typical Cas, so blunt and honest and, even after his years of direct interaction, unaware of some human conventions, human ways to make people feel better.

“What?  You did ask,” Cas replied, puzzled.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I guess I did,” Dean responded, laughing again.  He returned to sit on the sofa.  It was amazing to him how much more…alive…he felt, even with all the pain and crushing guilt.  Just having Cas back made the dingy cabin brighter, his heart lighter.

“So, you’ve just been brought back–”

“Well, no.  Not 'just’ brought back,” Cas corrected him.  "I was resurrected immediately.“

"You were–like that same day–?”  Cas nodded.  "–And then–?“  Cas looked at him blankly.  "You’ve been wandering around for _months_ and you couldn’t be bothered to, oh, I don’t know, pick up a phone and call, do your angel location-hopping thing, let us know you were alive?!  What the hell, Cas!”  Dean was suddenly furious and hurt.  "Son of a bitch!  I could have known–We could have been using your help all this time–?!“

Cas frowned at him.  "I was not, as you say, 'wandering around’.  I was buried under–what?–four stories of rubble at the Bunker?  Five?  An angel has to be able to visualize where he is before translocating on Earth.  It took me months–even as new and improved as I am–to emerge from that heap of beams and concrete and dust and broken artifacts.”  He paused his angry description, took a deep breath, and continued more calmly, “And I did call as soon as I could.  But all your phones were out of service.  I had to find you the 'hard way’.”  He put the phrase in air quotes.

“The 'hard way’?” Dean prompted.

Cas frowned again.  "I am no Rit Zien, but I could feel your pain.“  He paused.  "Intensely.  So I followed it.”  He glowered at Dean.  "It is difficult to translocate to someone who is traveling in a car, though.  And every time you stopped and I thought I had pinpointed your location, you would move again.  You’ve been moving a lot.  In the end, I came as quickly as I could.“

He looked like he would have tacked on a "Are you satisfied now??” but was biting down on it.

“So…you’re saying Hannah and her sisters–” Dean paused for Cas to get the reference, then rolled his eyes when it slipped by unnoticed.  Cas’s treasure trove of human references, gifted by Metatron, seemed not to have included movies.  "–won’t be able to find me the same way?“  He waved his hands in the air, cocking an eyebrow.

"No.  Hannah does not have the same…bond…with you that I do.  And the angel wards would keep her out.”

“Whew.  That’s a relief.  I was thinking for a moment that she’d do the same dowsing you did and pop in to smite me.  She _really_ wants to smite me.”  He smiled sardonically.

“I will deal with Hannah,” Cas said firmly.  "Since I am alive, perhaps she won’t feel a need to smite you any more,“ he said with hope.

"Oh, I kinda doubt it,” Dean said sourly.  "She’s got a real hate on for me these days, according to the hench-Angels I’ve run into.“

Cas sighed.  "And killed, I don’t doubt.”

Dean looked offended.  "It’s not like I make a habit of it!  Self-defense, man!“

Cas pointed at Dean’s hand, eyeing the deep scrape marks.  "And was that done in self-defense?  You have been hitting things again, Dean.”  He reached out to take Dean’s injured hand gently into his own, touching each bruise with a feather light touch.

Dean looked down at his hand blankly.  "No…“ he said slowly.  "I’ve been fighting…shadows.”  He tried to pull his hand away, but Cas held on firmly with one hand and touched with two healing fingers from his other.  Dean watched the bruises and scrapes disappear, and tried to ignore the feeling of Cas’s warm hands on his.  Cas patted his hand and released it, and Dean quickly stood up, walking towards the kitchen area, catching his breath.

_Back to that.  Still don’t know how to handle that, do you?_

“So, Mister New-And-Improved…what are you now, an archangel?” he joked.

Cas followed him.  "No, definitely not.  But stronger than I was.  Sort of…between a seraph and an archangel?  Something new, I think.“  He sat at the table, and gave a quick, disapproving glance at the almost-empty whiskey bottle, unnoticed by Dean.

Dean reached into the grocery bag, pulled out a package of hotdogs, and busied himself at the stove.  "Damn, I’m hungry!  Too bad about the strength thing.  Not strong enough to take on Lucifer directly, then.”

“No.  Sorry!  And we have to be cautious, anyway.  A direct fight would be…disastrous for…”  Cas stopped abruptly.  Dean turned to shoot a look at him, then turned back to the stove. “Yes.  Well…” Cas continued awkwardly.  "What have you been doing about…about Lucifer?“

Dean speared a cooked hotdog with a fork and began eating it.  He turned back to Cas and began talking, occasionally pointing the speared hotdog for emphasis between taking bites.

"Well, he’s not as well-prepared this time around.  No Horsemen, thank God.  Still hates humans and demons and wants to, oh, I don’t know, 'cleanse’ the earth.  God-damned tree-hugger.  Mostly he’s pouring his attention into trying to rev up with Croatoan.  We’ve been keeping on top of that so far, through just plain luck.  Jodi caught wind of one research center in Sioux Falls–they claimed they were researching lupus–and we burned that one out.  Rudy and some pals found a facility doing some kind of brain research, guarded by demons and managed to use a circle of phones playing an exorcism to ditch them all, killed the researchers–”

He sighed and frowned.  "I don’t like having to do that.  But we can’t risk them continuing what they think is their research.  And Charlie has us wiping hard drives, flash drives, she locates and wipes the cloud copies…“

He stopped, eyes opening wide.  "Charlie!”  He dropped the now-empty fork back into the fry pan, and started rummaging in his shirt pockets.  "Dammit!  Where’s my phone?!“

Cas nudged the phone on the table.  "Here?”

Dean grabbed it, scanned his favorites, punched 'Charlie”, and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as it rang.

“Dean!”  Charlie sounded shocked.  "What’s wrong?  Why are you calling so soon?“

“No, no, no, no, Charlie, nothing’s wrong, in fact, something’s finally gone our way for a change!” Dean sang out.  He punched the speaker button and dropped the phone on the table.  "Say 'Hi!’ to Cas!“

” _Cas_?!?  Omigod omigod omigod!!!  You’re alive!  How did–?!?  What did–?!?“  Charlie sounded as if she were jumping up and down, or as if she would crawl through the phone if she could.  Cas and Dean grinned at her enthusiasm.

"Hello, Charlie,” Cas smiled affectionately.  "Yes, I’m back again.“

"What–?!?  How–?!?” she sputtered.

Dean laughed.  "Yeah, well, it’s Cas, Charlie.  God’s favorite, and all that.“

"I seem to have been resurrected again,” Cas said drily.

“Omigod omigod omigod!!  Oh, this is such good news!  Maybe–oh, yes, things going our way–oh, I’m so happy!  I can start putting 'Walking On Sunshine’ back on my playlist again!  And Dean–Dean–remember my idea to find an occult researcher–I may have a lead–her name is Danielle Lippmann–I tried calling, no answer, but I left my number and yours and–”  She was so excited she was tripping over her own words.

“Take a breath, kiddo,” Dean said with a smile. 

“Dean, I’m just so thrilled!  Y'know, a lot of people hide their enthusiasm,” she added darkly, disapproving.  "I’m a nerd.  I can’t do that.  It’s what makes me a nerd!  Or at least that’s what Wil Wheaton and other famous nerds say, so I’ll stick with that–anyway–Oh!  I found something else–there’s a book–The Book of The Sav–“

Her voice stopped.  They heard glass crashing.  Men yelling.  The 'snick’ of a blade being drawn–with no idea whose.  Furniture smashing.  Charlie’s voice in the background:  "Who _are_ you–?!?”

Then the phone went dead.

“ _Charlie_ –?!?” Dean shouted urgently.

“Charlie–?!?” Cas called at the same time.

They looked at each other, worried.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean breathed.  He punched her number again.

“We’re sorry.  That number is unavailable at this time,” came the canned message.

Dean slammed his fist on the table.  "GodDAMMIT!!“

"Dean.  Do you know where she is?  If you do, I can go check it out,” Cas said, standing up, ready to disappear as soon as he had the info.

Dean shook his head and ran his hand through his hair.  "Dammit, no.  We’ve been flying real low under the radar, Cas.“

"GPS…?” Cas asked, hopefully.

Dean shook his head again, then paused.

“I do have a list of places she _might_ be, though.  Maybe.  If she was lazy about wiping the file.”  He popped open his laptop, did a quick directory listing, then muttered a curse.  "No luck.  She deleted the file.“

"There are people who can undelete files, though, right?” asked Cas.

“Yeah, but I’m not one of them,” Dean said.  "We’ll have to find one.“  He closed the laptop, swept it up, did a quick scan of the main room of the cabin, and headed to the door.

"C'mon, man!” he called.  Cas stopped to turn off the stove, grabbed the groceries, and followed.


	5. White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds another case to work on, but Sam is skeptical. There are hundreds--maybe thousands--of dead, mummified bunnies in Lawton, OK. They go to investigate, and Sam's hallucination tags along.
> 
> * * *

Sam walked into the bunker kitchen, toweling sweat off his face and neck. Dean was seated at the table, laptop open to the side, a plate of bacon and eggs before him.   


“Hey,” Sam greeted him. 

“Hey, there, Usain Bolt! Back from your morning run? You wear me out just thinking about it.“ Dean slouched down in the chair and gave his brother an ironic look. 

“Hah. At least you’ve come up with a runner’s name this time. Lance Armstrong was getting old,” Sam snorted. He opened the fridge and pulled out a sack of greens and another sack of fruit. He rummaged in the cabinet for his special smoothie blender and started his morning breakfast routine.

“Rabbit food! Dammit, Sammy, are you making another of those deadly green things?”

“Hey. It’s healthy. After last year’s death spiral of depression about how to get the Mark of Cain off you, I figure I need to get back into healthy habits.” He hit the blender button and let it whirl away for a few minutes, then decanted the mix into a large glass. 

Dean shuddered. “I can’t even stand looking. Doesn’t that disgust you? Real food isn’t slimy and green!” He pointedly turned his head away. Sam laughed, and swung close by Dean, deliberately waving his glass right under Dean’s nose. Dean cringed away.

“Gah! Get it away from me! Rabbit food, I tell you!“ He made an exaggerated face of disgust as Sam sat down at the table across from him.

"Buuuut…speaking of rabbits…I think I have a case for us while we're stuck for info on that medical researcher thing..." 

Sam shot him an inquiring look. "Oh, yeah? Shoot.” He swallowed some of his smoothie and licked the green remnants off his lips with satisfaction. “Ahhhh. Good stuff!” he taunted Dean. 

Dean leaned back in his chair again, grinning widely and waving an expansive hand.

“Bunnies, Sam." 

Sam looked at him blankly. 

“Really. Bunnies. As in rabbits. Or the Easter bunny.” His voice was slow and skeptical and he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.

“Bunnies, I tell ya, Sam! Bunnies!" 

Sam could tell Dean was having a very good time with this. 

"A case. Involving bunnies.”

Dean slapped the laptop keyboard lightly. “Dead bunnies, Sam. Hundreds of dead bunnies. Hell, maybe thousands of dead bunnies!” He flipped the laptop around so Sam could see the screen. Displayed there was an article from the Lawton Herald, headlined, “Mysterious Rabbit Deaths Baffle Wildlife Experts”.  

He quickly scanned the first few paragraphs. 

“It’s at a wildlife refuge. They have dead rabbits all the time. It’s probably some rabbit disease. How do you get a case out of that?" 

Dean waggled a finger at him. "Ah ah ah ah, Sammy! If you read further, it gets…weird. As in, mummified bunny bodies with the brains scooped out weird. More and more dead, mummified, brain-robbed bunnies each month.” He balanced his chair on the back legs, rocking forward and back, then laced his fingers behind his head and rubbed his short dark brown hair. He waited patiently for Sam’s response. 

Sam drank some more of his smoothie while thinking about it. “Hunh. Okay, yeah, it’s a bit weird. But, a case?" 

Dean closed the laptop with a decisive ‘pop!’, and stood up. "Yep, a case. Wraiths on a diet? A baby kitsune? Maybe zombie wolves or coyotes? Who knows. Anyway. I’ll set up interviews. Finish your damned rabbit food, go shower–I won’t sit in the car for hours smelling your running musk!–and let’s hit the road." 

Sam walked past him, pulled the armhole of his T-shirt open and pumped his arm up and down to make sure the aforementioned musk hit his brother right in the face. He laughed at Dean’s outraged roar, and jogged off to hit the showers. Wild threats of retaliation followed him down the hallway.

**** 

A day later, they drove out from the dingy Hummingbird Motel to the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge headquarters. This morning’s interview had them dressed in jeans and khaki shirts with U.S. Fish and Wildlife patches. 

Entering the back rooms, they found themselves in the typical government office–beige walls, cubicles, a large picture of the president prominently displayed, and an array of portraits of refuge superintendents ranging from the early 1900s up through the latest, a bland looking bureaucrat in a bland suit.  

They turned down the hall and knocked on the door frame of the office the ranger on duty at the front desk had told them held their quarry. 

Dean leaned in. "Jerry Sanders? Agent Tom Sucherman. We talked on the phone yesterday?"  

The sandy-haired man behind the desk waved them in. "Agent Sucherman. And you must be Rick Phillips. Glad to meet you. Have a seat.” He reached over the cluttered desk to shake their hands. “Gotta tell you, I’m glad HQ sent LEO types." 

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. For some reason, though Sam tended to think he actually looked more professorial, every time they talked with people, they were pegged as the law. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it was a hindrance. This time, it seemed, it was going to be a help. 

“Mind if I ask why you’re looking for LEOs?” Dean asked. “The info we got was pretty vague." 

Sanders walked around the desk and leaned on it, running his hands through his hair. "Yeah, well. We didn’t want to spook anyone. But–here, let me show you.” He moved some papers off a cooler on the corner of the desk, opened it, waved his hand and went “Whoo!” at the odor that wafted out, and pulled out a dead rabbit. 

“You always keep a cooler of dead rabbits on your desk?“ Sam asked.  

“Nah. Most of the older ones are in the lab, this is just from yesterday. Ten of 'em? Anyway, take a look.” He handed Dean the stiff, withered bunny body. Dean took it gingerly. The most obvious thing–aside from it being mummified, which was interesting on its own–was that the top of the head had been cut open and was held on only by a skin flap. 

Dean swung the body idly, watching as the top of the skull flipped open then closed with each swing. 

“Hunh. Neat." 

“Ya. Somebody’s been doing this, it’s not natural. Looks like he scoops out the brains with a melon baller… And whoever’s been doing this is a real sicko. The reason I’m glad to see law types is that this guy isn’t going to stop at bunnies. Isn’t that how serial killers operate? Start small, with animals, then go big time?" 

"That’s the standard thinking,” Dean said. “I take it our boy has no problem finding lots of rabbits to kill? We almost ran over a dozen on our way here…"  

"Hah! Darwin in action! Stupid rabbits get hit by cars and don’t reproduce. But we’ve got a bunny population explosion this year, the warm winter helped. Not that–cough cough–global warming has anything to do with it–cough cough. Or with the eighty inches of rain Texas has gotten this year after years of drought. Nope, nosirree.” Sanders looked up at the ceiling, pantomiming whistling. 

“Right, sure,“ Sam said, winking at him. 

"Well, we’re not supposed to talk about it…” Sanders said. He clapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “Anyway, that’s the scoop." 

"Can you tell us where, in general, the kills took place?” Sam asked as they stood up also. 

“Here, have a map.” Sanders rummaged through another pile of papers and pulled out a sheet with a map of the refuge and a series of red x’s marked on it. “You’ll notice they come in clumps and are mostly located near the roads in the refuge." 

“Thanks, it’ll come in handy.” Dean made as if to return the rabbit body, but Sanders waved his hand. “Keep it. We’ve got plenty more." 

"Um. Thanks?” Dean said.  Sam eyed the rabbit corpse as eagerly as his brother. 

“Find this SOB. He’s a real winner.“ 

"Will do. Thanks for the info,” Dean told Sanders as they headed out the door.

*** 

“Should have asked for something to carry it in,“ Dean mused as he handed the corpse off to Sam and put the key in the ignition. 

“Ugh. What are we supposed to do with it?” Sam asked, turning it over and peering at it, then tossing it in the back seat. 

“Dunno. Keep it as a trophy?” Dean peeled out of the parking lot, and swerved to miss a rabbit scampering across the road. “Damn rabbits! Run, little bunny!” he called out in a falsetto. 

Sam gave him a resigned look and pulled out his iPad to start researching.

“What? They’ve got enough to deal with, with this creeper around. No need to commit hara kiri using Baby, here.“ 

“Yeah, well. It’s definitely  weird,” Sam said. “But still. A case? I don’t think so…" 

“Sam. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” the dreaded voice said softly behind him. He bit his lip hard, doing his best to ignore it. 

“This is just great!“ his hallucination crowed. Suddenly the dead rabbit popped up by the side of his head, hands opening and closing the empty skull rhythmically. Sam determinedly kept his eyes forward, but he could still see everything in his peripheral vision, no matter how much he chanted inwardly, _Not real, not real, not REAL!_

"Damn. It’s just like Pac Man. You have an amazingly vivid imagination sometimes, bunk buddy! But I keep telling you all this isn't real. Why won't you listen?" 

Sam started grimly doing searches on his browser…for something, anything, that could distract himself. Luckily, he found something right away. 

“Oh, damn!" 

Dean shot him a look. "What?" 

“Local PD alert stream…guess what’s just turned up?" 

“Oooh! Tell me, tell me!” Hallucination Lucifer begged him. 

“Let me guess…Sanders was right about our perp moving on to people?” Dean said cynically. 

“Yup. An ‘interesting’ corpse. Teacher at a local boarding school. Found on the grounds. 'Missing brain’. What do you wanna bet it’s also bloodless and shriveled up like our bunny buddy back there?” He jerked a thumb towards the back seat. 

“Sam!” Hallucination Lucifer ( _Hallucifer_? he thought with bitter amusement) sounded hurt. “I’ve got your shrunken bunny right here, dammit!” The hallucination shook the shrunken rabbit corpse beside his head.  

Dean snorted. “I don’t make sucker bets, man.” Then he punched on the radio and started singing along to “Jack and Diane”.

Hallucifer sulked in the back seat. Sam watched the road intently. After a few minutes, there was nothing sitting in the back seat any more. 

They had to wait for a trio of buffalo to saunter across the roadway halfway through the refuge, then motored on back to their temporary digs. 

**** 

They had quick-changed into their FBI costumes before showing up at Lawton PD. The desk sergeant pointed them in the direction of the coroner’s lab at the flash of their fake badges. Beige walls, stale body and food smells, overweight cops bustling about–it was standard fare for them. 

Sam opened the lab door, and held it open for Dean. It was chilly, of course, and the stale smell was replaced by the smell of formaldehyde. A tall, gaunt, greying man stood over the body on the autopsy table. The radio was on, and Rush Limbaugh’s totally recognizable voice was ranting. 

“GodDAMMIT you bloody asshole! Stop harping on that subject! It’s been done to death!” the man shouted, in a surprisingly deep voice. Dean and Sam exchanged raised-eyebrow looks, and Sam muttered, “He probably shouldn’t be saying it that loud in this part of the country…" 

Dean nodded, then spoke up. "Dr. Woj…Wojseeich?" 

The coroner peered around at them. "Voychek! It’s pronounced 'Voychek’! Damned Ukrainians can’t spell worth a damn! Who the hell are you?!” He turned down the radio. 

“Agent Tom Sucherman, Agent Rick Philips.” Dean said. They flipped out their badges. “FBI." 

The coroner pursed his lips. "Damn! Fast on the trigger, ain’t ya?" 

“We’re here to serve and protect…” Dean said lightly. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. NSA prob'ly tipped you off to get you scurrying in so quick. Did they? The damned NSA?“ He eyed them suspiciously. "Don’t like the NSA. The Surveillance State, hah!” He paused, then went on, “Don’t like the FBI much, either. Buncha stuffed-shirt pricks full of self-importance." 

Dean blinked at the rant. "Well, ah…" 

Sam broke in. "We were actually already investigating something similar in the area, so when we heard the scanner info, we thought we’d come take a look."  

"Reaallly. Something similar. Hah! Betcha it’s a secret weapon being developed at the Army base…testing it on the locals and scaring the piss out of the po-po!" 

This time it was Sam’s turn to blink. Dean leaned towards him and muttered, "What is this, Frank’s clone?!” Sam nodded wide-eyed agreement. 

“So, Dr. Wojciech, what have we got here?“ Dean moved to the autopsy table and tried to stem the conspiracy tide, steer the so-far one-sided conversation back to more useful talk. 

“What we’ve got, boys,” Wojciech boomed, “is very interesting.” He pointed at the head. “No need to get out the bone saw for this puppy, the head’s already been cut open. Brain gone completely.” He yanked down the sheet covering the body. It was shriveled and wrinkled and pale, the skin outlining the skeleton. “And he’s shrink-wrapped. Hah! Never seen anything like it." 

“So who’s the vic?” Sam asked, walking around the body and examining it. The desiccated skin felt like parchment when he touched it.

Hallucifer appeared and began walking with him, peering at the same things he was peering at. He was humming a tune, and Sam’s brain automatically started puzzling over what song it was. 

_Ah. “All You Zombies.” Cute._

Wojciech rummaged around on the instrument table, and handed Sam a folder. “Name’s Joe Ellis. Teacher out at the Brady Academy. Academy, hah! Institute for brainwashing kids out of any creativity or difference, if ya ask me! Creating sheep for the Surveillance State is what they’re doing! Don’t ask questions, toe the line, become a dittohead, yessir, nosir, whatever you say, sir!” He spat on the floor. 

“Uh…okay. So the Brady Academy is…like a home for wayward boys?“ Sam asked dubiously. He opened the folder and began concentrating on the paperwork, then took out his pocket notebook to take notes. Hallucifer faded into the background.  

“Eh, wayward is as wayward does!” Wojciech snorted. “Boys and girls. Take individuals and turn them into sheep! Scared moms and dads get in over their heads, kids start acting out, whoosh! Off with them to boarding school! Or worse!" 

Dean couldn’t help making a moue of agreement while studying the empty brain pan. "Usually kids just need a bit more patience,” he mused. “They settle down eventually on their own." 

Wojciech shot him a surprised look. "Not what I’d expect a FBI clone to say,” he grumbled. Dean shrugged. 

“Been there, done that. I was lucky and got a good place, a good mentor. But some of these places seem like punishment boot camp to me.“ 

"Hunh. A real human being in an FBI suit. Who'da thunk it,” Wojciech muttered. Dean cocked an amused eyebrow at him.  

“It happens, you know,“ he smirked. 

“So how was the skull opened?” he added, looking more closely at it. “It’s a pretty neat cut." 

Wojciech moved over to lean like a crane towards the open skull. "I wanna say a laser, some kinda high-tech military cutting device,” he boomed mournfully. “But I can’t. It was a sharp blade. You can see, here, here and here–” he pointed, “–these places where the blade bound up in the bone and the guy had to retry." 

"Hunh. Yeah, I can see it,” Dean said. “So nothing truly unusual…no, say, ice pick wounds down by the base of the skull? Just a fairly sharp blade?"  

Wojciech eyed him sideways. "You _expecting_ an ice pick wound in particular?"  

Dean waved the idea away. "No, no, nothing in particular. Just looking for anything especially unusual…" 

Wojciech drew himself up to his full height and looked repressively down his nose at him. "Well, I don’t know about you fancy schmamcy FBI types, but I happen to think this whole case is 'especially unusual’. But maybe it’s just an everyday occurrence for you two?” he snarked. 

Sam said, “Oh, no, trust me, Dr. Wojciech, this is totally new to us, too.” Dean nodded his agreement, then angled an enquiring look at Sam, who nodded back at him. Dean turned back to Wojciech, held out his hand, and said, “Well, we’ll be on our way. Thanks for your help, Dr. Wojciech." 

Wojciech waved a dismissing hand, ignoring the tacit handshake offer. "You won’t find anything at that crime scene but a bunch of bumbling cops who couldn’t find their asses with their hands. It’s a secret Army weapon, trust me, and the military knows how to cover its tracks…" 

On that note, they exited the lab. The radio volume pumped up, and the sound of Limbaugh and Wojciech becoming apoplectic in tandem faded behind them as Sam closed the lab door. 

“So. Brady Academy next?” Dean asked. 

Sam nodded. “"Sounds good to me.”


	6. Wicked Game (Chris Izaak)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DubCon
> 
> Dani and Crowley get to "know" each other, and Dani begins researching binding spells. Did you know there are lots of government entities with occult/arcane databases? ;-)
> 
> A/N: I can't write sex scenes. Point a gun at my head, and I'll just start giggling about "thrusting pelvises", "angel blades", and whatnot. I can get sexy, but you have to use your imagination.
> 
> * * *

“Mmmmmmm.” Dani yawned, stretched, and snuggled back up against Crowley’s naked body. She could smell him: an interesting mix of sex, male scent, whiskey, with a vague hint of sulfur behind it all. He was sprawled face down on the bed, with one arm laying heavy and warm over her hip. 

_That was…very intense._

_~~i’d use a different phrase, actually…~~_

_Whatever. He’s a damned good lay. And I’ll corrupt you yet._

_~~you can corrupt me with good sex any time. torture? killing? no thanks.~~_

She pulled up onto her elbow to peer at him. “So. What should I call you?" 

He grunted. "Don’t know. Don’t care,” he muttered. 

“Sweetie pie? Lover boy? Cuddle bunch?“ she teased. 

He opened a disgusted eye at the last suggestion. "No!” he mumbled.  

“Hah! Thought that would get you. But really, what should I call you? Crowley? Jamie? Fergus?“ She poked him, and he turned over. He began idly tracing circles on her hip. 

"If you have to call me something, how about 'King of Hell’?” he suggested ironically. “Or, 'my king.’" 

"Oh, yeah. That’ll work nicely, I’m sure. 'Oh, King of Hell, can you grab me my toothbrush–?’ 'Oh God, yes! My king, yes! Do that! More! Oh! Yes!’” she snorted. “Something else, please." 

He shrugged. "Whatever. It really doesn’t matter. For the record, 'my king’ _has_ been used before.” He smirked. 

“Jamie, then. I like it. Besides, you’re not the king of Hell anymore.” She snuggled back into him. 

He glared down at her, and said sourly, “Many thanks for reminding me of my current situation." 

She shrugged. "Truth. Don’t pout. Maybe you’ll get it back, maybe you won’t. I’m sure you’ll figure something out…if we all survive. You got there once, and you were King of the Crossroads before that. _You_ did it, not someone else." 

“There _are_ certain…benefits to no longer being king,” he admitted, leaning over her and concentrating more on his lazy tracery. “No more sycophants and hangers-on. No more deadly boring meetings and majordomos and decrees to sign or disputes to resolve. No more mediocre minions making a hash out of the simplest of commands." 

Dani shuddered. "You couldn’t pay me enough to make me do that sort of thing. I like my puzzles. Don’t ever put me in management." 

“That, my dear, is why management gets paid the big bucks. Or ends up with big power.” He rolled her over onto her back, and his hand wandered further afield. “A further benefit of my current status is that when I have sex, I’ve either paid for it and get what I expect, or I am enjoying myself with someone who actually wants it and is refreshingly enthusiastic. No hopeful powers-behind-the-throne jockeying for position via sex." 

He began rolling a nipple between thumb and index finger, humming softly, like a cat purring. 

“Ouch! I think the body needs a rest. Over-stimulation." 

He didn’t stop, just smiled crookedly and continued. "Pleasure and pain, pet. A splendid combination."  

"Well, right now, the pleasure-pain ratio is below one. Stop." 

His hand stopped and he looked down at her with hooded eyes. ”'Stop’? To the King of Hell? I don’t think so, darling.“ 

He moved quickly, straddling her, capturing her hands and pinning them with one hand behind her head. She tried to struggle, but he held her firmly down and purred, "For that, Dani-girl, I think I am going to make you _beg_ me to keep going…" 

He slid off her. His other hand moved down to part her legs, then trail up her inner thigh, and she bit her lip angrily at the traitorous quiver that moved her flesh in its path. 

*** 

Dani was wakened by a loud, metallic clattering. She sat bolt upright in the bed, adrenaline pumping, to see a medium-sized man, with medium-brown hair, drawing back the drapes. 

“Who the hell are you?” She asked abruptly. 

The medium man turned to reveal an average, eminently forgettable face, with eyes carefully focussed over her shoulder. 

_~~girl! cover yourself!~~_

_Why?_

_~~total stranger? we’re totally naked?~~_

_What’s the big deal? I think he may be a servant…?_

Dani absently pulled the sheet up to placate Innie-Me. Crowley was nowhere to be seen. 

“I am Davis, Miss…?“ He paused expectantly. 

She blinked at him, then realized what he was looking for. "Dani. Danielle Lippmann." 

“Miss Dani. Pleased to meet you.” He returned to opening drapes. 

She realized she was ravenous. “So, Davis…what does one do for breakfast around here?" 

“Usually when Mr. Redmond has overnight guests, we order breakfast in from Mark’s Bistro. Their 'Metro Delight’ is quite ample. Bacon, eggs, fresh fruit, waffles, excellent coffee…” He paused, eyebrows lifted in gentle inquiry. 

Dani ducked her head quickly to hide an unexpected flash of beetle eyes. The phrase “overnight guests” had provoked a surge of angry jealousy that surprised her. When she had control again, she looked up and answered, “That sounds perfect, Davis." 

She paused in thought, looking over at the pile of clothes from last night, then continued, "Um. I, um…is there any way I could have someone get me some clothes from my place…?" 

Davis smiled. "Of course, Miss Dani.” He got the address and list from her, then discreetly exited. 

She picked at her lower lip thoughtfully, then got out of the bed, grabbed Crowley’s shirt from the pile of clothes, and tugged it on, wandering to the windows. There was a glorious view of Central Park, with sunlight splashing over the greenery. 

After a few minutes of drinking in the view of the city–which she loved–she turned back to assess the bedroom. It was decorated in typical 'English gentry’ style–lots of dark woods, Persian carpets, maroon drapes. There was a doorway leading to a bathroom suite off to one side, a bookshelf with leather-bound books, a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror with an ornate gilded frame, and a hutch with a computer. She brightened at the sight, and sat down before it to start research. 

The computer wallpaper was deep red with “666” in a black gothic font, which made her snort. It was locked, of course… 

_Hmmm. Any guesses as to the password, Innie-Me?_

_~~hmmmm….?~~_

_Wake up, sleepy head. Guesses. Password. Gimme some._

_~~hmm. let me just enjoy last night a bit more.~~_

Dani rolled her eyes. 

_~~we did beg. many many times. it was very fun.~~_

Dani snorted. _Yes. Great fun. Do you want to do some guesswork or just keep mentally masturbating?_

_~~why ask me?~~_

_I want to see if it’s as easy as I think it is._

_~~sheesh. okay. my guess is 'kingofhell’, initial caps, one for the i, zero for the o, three for the e.~~_

Dani snorted again–Innie-Me had come up with the exact same initial guess as she had. She typed it in, and the computer unlocked. 

_~~bad security, if **i** can guess it in one go!~~ _

Dani nodded absent agreement, and started working. 

*** 

It was hours later when Crowley returned. Dani was slouched in an overstuffed burgundy easy chair by the windows, legs slung over an arm, munching on perfectly crisp bacon and reading the New York Times when the door opened and he came in. She waved at him. “Come eat something. It’s all great." 

He sat down at the table with her and accepted the plate she handed over. 

“Let me give you a quick rundown of what I’ve been working on,” she continued. “The Vatican has locked the backdoor to their occult database since the last time I was rummaging in there.” She grimaced. “That’ll cost us, to find someone with the know-how to dig in through their new security." 

He held up a hand to stop her. "Wait. The Vatican has an occult database?" 

She nodded and grabbed some strawberries. She bit into one and kept on. "Ultra-secret. Excellent resource, but not available right now.” She licked strawberry juice off her chin. “I noodled through the NSA’s database and found a few leads, but nothing definitive. And the Warehouse 13 database at the FBI also had a few leads, which I’m going to have to track down." 

Crowley blinked at the barrage of information. "Just who all has these arcane databases?" 

Dani pointed a strawberry at him. "Lots of folks. They just don’t let The People know. Don’t want to scare them. For instance, _we_ used to have a wonderful archive. However, in the chaos since last May, the head archivist was killed, and the archive vanished.” She paused and eyed him dubiously. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about that?" 

Crowley looked irritated. "Me?! I was busy being resurrected and chained by a geas, and then spending months as a dreadfully mundane literary agent. I haven’t the foggiest, pet." 

Dani frowned thoughtfully, and stared blankly at him, mentally debating between more strawberries or blueberries, or nothing more to eat. "Well. The assistant archivist is rumored to be hiding out somewhere…I’ll see if my tame PI can get a lead on him." 

Crowley frowned. "Toby? Oh, _do_ let me know when you find him, there’s a good girl. I have some things I’d like to…discuss with him.” He smiled like a tiger, showing clenched teeth, and Dani wondered just what this Toby had done to warrant such an eager, if unnerving, response. 

She stood up abruptly. _No more fruit; time to get to work._ “I need to take care of my former business partner and start lining up subcontractors. So…" 

Crowley stood up, too, and stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "No need to be in such a hurry…” He said softly.  

She cocked an inquiring eyebrow at him. 

“That’s a very…fetching…frock you’re wearing, Dani-girl,” he added with a crooked smile. He reached out to hold the lapels of the shirt she was wearing–his shirt–and tugged her gently toward him. “Maybe a wee tad over-dressed?” he suggested, beginning to unbutton it. 

She smiled up at him and leaned forward to give him a quick, sensuous kiss. “Maybe. But I’m about to get dressed and head out to do business, so I think it can wait.” She grasped his hands to stop the unbuttoning. 

His eyes glittered down at her as he pulled his hands away from her grip. Then, very deliberately, he reached for the collar of the shirt and slowly pushed it down off her shoulders. It fell off her body into a puddle of fabric on the floor.  

She shivered at his touch, but her mouth twitched in irritation. “Later. I said 'later’. You have a real problem with the concept of 'no’, y'know?" 

“Don’t provoke me, pet.” His voice was soft and even and dangerous. 

She frowned at him, starting to get angry. “Really. Provoke _you_. This can wait–”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly she couldn’t speak. 

She mouthed, "You bloody bastard!” at him, and her eyes flashed angry beetle-black. 

He trailed a finger along her lips slowly and smiled with one eyebrow tilted up. “That’s better. Now.” He paused. He turned her around so she was facing the mirror, and yanked her body close against his. He laced one hand through her short hair and tugged her head sharply back to his shoulder, watching her in the mirror. Her petite naked body contrasted vividly with his black suit. “Let me tell you how things are going to go here, darling,” he continued. 

His other hand wandered possessively down her stomach to her groin. 

Her anger struggled against sudden fierce desire. Dammit. She _did_ want to do this, just not right now! 

“You see,“ he drawled, "I have this brand new shiny sex toy. I want to _play_ with my new sex toy.” Two fingers suddenly penetrated her cunt, and his thumb started caressing her clit. Her body sagged against him and she moaned, then her knees buckled. He supported her as she slid to sit on her knees, following her down. His eyes locked with her eyes’ mirror reflection. He had a satisfied smile. His lips were near her ear, mustache and beard tickling her lightly, and he continued in an light, explanatory tone. “And when I want to play with it, I will say, 'Sex toy, into bed!’, and _voila_ , into bed we go, with no 'laters’ or 'stops’ or protests of any kind. Do you understand?" 

Oh, she understood, and it was infuriating. She had been all business this morning, and was deep in the zone. Being ignored, her expertise dismissed, being treated like an object–again! Black rage was what she was feeling by now, and she wanted–needed–to let it out. 

Something in her head snapped. 

And suddenly she was on her knees in the bathroom suite. Alone.  

_~~whoa!~~_

_Holy shit. Did I just do that?_

_~~yeah. why? it was just getting fun…~~_

Dani staggered to her feet and turned to the suite doors. _I wonder…? Can I…? How does it go again…? Power, will, word…?_

_~~yer asking me? i have no idea.~~_

The exchange took only a second. She held up a hand, using her anger as power, her need to go out and get things done as will, and spoke the word, dug out of her half-remembered school Latin classes from long ago. ” _Claudite_!“ 

The doors slammed shut and the lock turned. 

_Whoa. It worked._

_~~why didn’t you just walk over and do that?~~_

_Because I didn’t think of it, that’s why! I think that man scrambles my brain.  Dammit._

She turned to the sink, starting cold water running. She grabbed underwear from the neat stack of clothes Davis had left her and started yanking it on, muttering, "That god-damned issue-ridden control-freak _frigging ASSHOLE!!_ ” Her voice rose until she ended her rant on an infuriated shriek. 

The worst was that she really, really wanted him. 

_~~hot. that’s the word you’re looking for…~~_

_Gee thanks, Innie-Me. So helpful. Go away._

She splashed her face with the cold water, and was pulling on jeans when the doors slammed open again. She whirled around to see Crowley standing five feet back. His legs were braced apart, one hand raised in the completion of a command snap, the other in his pants pocket jingling coins. His head was slightly tilted, his eyebrows lifted, his lips curved in a small, triumphant smile. It was a studied pose, yet another of his affectations. She just knew he had used the same pose against antagonists many times before. 

“Knock, knock, pet,” he said lightly, and began sauntering toward her. “Now, where were we…?" 

Her anger, which had been receding, grew again. 

Power, will, word. Now, power against an inanimate object like the doors was one thing–she (surprisingly!) had that within herself. But power against another demon? Especially a…very…powerful one like Crowley? Where– 

An idea struck. She squinted sideways at him, and saw the binding shimmering lightly. Aha! She grabbed it mentally, twisted, used her determination, and spoke: ” _Confutate_!“ 

He stopped abruptly in the doorway. Tried to push forward. Frowned when he couldn’t. "Bollocks!” he muttered. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, studying her, then he gave a small snort of laughter.  

Dani finished zipping up her jeans. 

“Now, let me tell you how things are going to go here, darling,” she mimicked him savagely. She grabbed a bra, pulled it on, reached behind to snap it together. “I’m going to go out and do my business. As I explained. When I want to. And for how long I want to. And if I feel like having sexy fun times, maybe I’ll come back by.” She shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. _My_ choice. Not _yours_. I’m not your God-damned 'sex toy’, and I’m not an 'it’,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. She grabbed a brush, shook it at him, and then started dragging it through her hair to deal with the remains of her morning mohawk. 

He leaned against the door frame, arms folded, an amused expression on his face. “Do go on,” he murmured, gesturing encouragement. 

“And I like domination games just as much as anyone, but there’s a little thing called 'consent’, which I cannot _believe_ I am having to discuss with a three-hundred-year-old man–!” She slammed the brush down on the counter. 

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh, really, pet! 'Consent’! A word used by angsty feminist bloggers still hiding away in college. Or the Huffington Post. Can’t abide those rants." 

She glared at him while pulling on a turtleneck. 

“I. Am. An. Angsty. Feminist.” she gritted out between clenched teeth when her head emerged. 

He snorted again. “You can’t be. You’re a bloody _demon_ , for god’s sake! Demons don’t give a damn about consent! They’re–by their very _nature_!–anti-consent!" 

"Not me!” she protested. 

_~~oh yeah. right. you’re all about 'consent’. right. hypocrite. I don’t remember consenting to being possessed.~~_

_That’s different._

_~~how? felt like rape to me. still does. hypocrite.~~_

“I’m not interested in having a damned philosophical dialogue on the nature of demons and consent!“ Dani shouted, frustrated by the both of them. She waved her hands wildly in the air to express her exasperation. Then she turned to the mirror, wet her hands, and ran them through her hair to smooth it down some more. 

Crowley lifted an eyebrow. "Really? What’s your hurry? I’d _like_ a philosophical discussion on the matter! It could be very interesting…" 

_Bloody condescending bastard!_

She whirled back to face him. "In case you don’t remember, we had a deal.” She stabbed a finger at him in emphasis. “I’m supposed to be researching that dainty golden binding on your wrists,” she reminded him. “And the fact that _I_ could use it, siphon some of its power off, to stop you in your tracks should concern you. If a lower-level demon like me can do that, you can bet others can, too. And there are plenty of folks out there who would get a real kick out of doing it, too–especially to you." 

He stiffened, considering the idea. He frowned, rubbed his beard thoughtfully again, then scratched the back of his head. Finally: "You may have a point there,” he conceded. “I certainly don’t want power poachers. Speaking of 'consent’." 

“So the sooner I’m out and about taking care of my business, the sooner you might get that binding off.” She paused, then added reluctantly, feeling compelled to honesty, “That’s assuming I _can_ find a way to do it." 

She left the bathroom and edged around him cautiously, hoping the spell still held. His amused eyes followed her, but he didn’t move. 

“I’m off. Later!” She strode out the bedroom suite doors. 

He remained leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom, staring after her, a bemused expression on his face. “Hunh!” he finally snorted softly, tossing his head. Then he straightened up and followed her out, calling for Davis.  



	7. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For (U2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas search for clues as to what happened to Charlie. They find a medallion that may point the way.
> 
> * * *

AAA-Aaction Computing had a very silly name, but it had good reviews on Yelp, from a wide variety of people using them for a wide variety of services. The most amusing one said simply, "Owner is a douche, but does good work.” That was good enough for Dean. It was located in a dingy strip mall, flanked by Eagle Tattoos (“Servicemen welcome!”) and, on the other side, Emma Mae’s Eats (“Voted best deep-fried okra in Owensboro!” and “Fresh homemade pies daily!”). Dean paused at that. Pie! 

He pushed open the door to AAA-Aaction Computing, setting a tiny bell attached to the door rattling. The interior seemed smaller than it really was, what with dead CPUs stacked in heaps, motherboards draped with connecting cables piled on top and scattered across every available surface. There were posters: the original Star Wars, a series of Marvel Avengers movie posters, and a large Five Finger Death Punch poster featuring a skull adorned with a red handprint resting against a pentagram. Dean did a double-take at that last one.  

A head popped up from behind one of the four monitors resting on the desk at the back, and the lean-faced proprietor mumbled, “With ya in a sec." 

"No problem. Take your time,” Dean said, though in reality, he was itching to get things done as soon as possible. He started to turn away to peer out the darkened windows when the man behind the desk let out a triumphant “Hah! Gotcha!”, stood up trailing a series of cables, and asked, “So how can I help you, man?" 

"I’m Brian Roberts. I called you earlier about rescuing a deleted file?” He held out his hand. 

“Oh, yeah, man, the guy with the uber computer whiz friend who killed the file, right? I’m Dan Watts. Pleased to meetcha.” He tossed the cables on top of a pile of miscellaneous computer parts, wiped his hands on his black jeans, and shook Dean’s hand. He was wearing a Machine Head t-shirt, his long black hair was slicked back, there were three studs in his left nostril, and his chin was covered with fashionable day-old stubble. 

Dean handed over the laptop. “The file we’re trying to restore is on this." 

Watts eyed the laptop dubiously. "How old is that thing, man? You sure this chick was Ms. Uber Hacker, using something that out of date?" 

Dean was filled with a sudden desire to either punch him or to start explaining that, hey, it was his laptop, not hers, and, yes, he was very sure…but he settled for, "My laptop, her work. It’s a file named something like ‘charliesafehouses’, and it was deleted about two, three months ago. I think." 

Watts snatched the laptop from him, dropped it unceremoniously on his desk, flipped it open, started it up, and snorted. "Windows,” he sneered. He drummed his fingers impatiently as the laptop booted up. “Always so damned slow, no matter what CPU you’ve got,” he muttered. Dean waited. 

“Ah, there we go.” He started typing. “Uh-huh, uh-huh…yeah, there.” He looked up at Dean. “Gimme about an hour, man." 

"Awesome!” Dean jerked a thumb in the direction of Emma’s Eats. “She says she’s got pie?" 

"Yeah, man. Good pie!” Watts smacked his lips and rubbed his belly. 

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. “Really? I’m always on the lookout…" 

“Oh, yeah, Emma’s a good baker. Go grab some pie and coffee, and come back, I should be done by then.” Watts plopped down in his chair, spun the laptop around to face himself, and started typing. 

“Yeah, right, I think I’ll do that,“ Dean said, but Watts ignored him. He shrugged and left the store. 

*** 

“There ya go, luv,” the plump, middle-aged waitress said as she placed the slice of boysenberry pie before him. It was smothered in whipped cream, and Dean smiled widely as he picked up a fork. “Ahhhh, pie!” he said. 

She smiled at him, and poured a cup of coffee. “Cream, sweetie?" 

"No, thank you,” he replied. 

“I do love a good-looking man who loves him some pie!“ She winked at him and moved on to another customer.

Cas slid onto the stool next to him at the counter. 

"Hey, sweetie, you want anything?” the waitress called out from the other end of the counter. 

Cas shook his head, and replied, “No, thank you. I’m just here with my friend."  

"Okie doke. Just let me know if you change your mind, luv!” she caroled out.  

“Dean.” Cas greeted him. 

“Cas. Man. You need to try this pie! It’s heaven!" 

Cas smiled at his enthusiasm, and at the mustache of whipped cream he was licking off. "I’m _from_ heaven. I’m sure the pie is better,” he joked. “I’m glad to see you enjoying yourself. You haven’t looked this relaxed in over a year." 

Dean paused with a forkful of pie midway to his mouth, then resolutely put it in his mouth and started chewing. He looked at the half a slice left, and suddenly the pie tasted like ashes in his mouth. He remembered what it had been like. How everything in the world had been as if viewed through dark glasses, grey, lifeless, unless he was hunting. How joy–in even the simplest of things–had disappeared from his life. The Mark had changed him, so very much. 

Cas placed a hand on his arm. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry to have reminded you,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah. I know. It’s just…just…hard to explain just what it was like.” He stared into space. “It was like I was there, but…not there at the same time. The only times I felt alive were when I had the Blade, or when I was killing. It’s no way to go through life. And towards the end…” He paused. 

Cas made a small noise to encourage him. 

Dean looked straight into those vivid blue eyes. “Cas. Cain told me." 

“Told you what?" 

"He told me I’d kill Crowley, kill you. And I did. Then he said I’d kill Sam. And I came so close, but–”. He stopped abruptly. 

“But. Yes. You were too late.” Cas said gently. “But he did remove the Mark. You’re free now." 

Without warning: 

_~~He steps over Crowley and Cas, their bodies bloody and tangled in death. He tries the door they were protecting. Locked. Sam’s voice, raised in rhythmic chanting, then one-sided conversation. He backs up and kicks the door, once, twice, three times, each time with more power, the inner song of STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY STOP SAMMY fueling his strength. The door abruptly gives way. He stumbles through the doorway. Sam kneeling on the floor, spell markings surrounding the silver bowl before him, smoke rising. He surges forward. Sam stands up and says, firmly, "Yes.” “Sammy! NO!!!” Brilliant white light floods the room. Sam outlined in arcs of lightning, his back arching in pain. Whiteness expanding outward. A bolt of lightning strikes his arm. The Mark vanishes. A maelstrom of power pushes him back. He tries to move forward, to reach his brother, but the actinic whiteness, like a living thing, pushes him further and further away. He is outside the room now. Weeping. Screaming. “No! No! Sammy, dammit, it wasn’t worth it!” He struggles to move to Sam, but is blocked. Wind howls through the corridors. Walls ripple. He staggers back, and finally, broken, he turns to flee. Down the corridor. Up stairs. The common room floor sways beneath his feet. He stumbles to the stairs to the entryway. Pulses of power pound through the bunker. He sees the wall before him bow inward, then outward, like it is breathing. He crawls up the swaying stairs, onto the landing, into the entryway. Then a last, furious gout of electric blue-white floods his vision, and he can hear roaring, cracking, smashing, creaking, breaking. Then…darkness.~~_

“Dean? Dean!” Cas was shaking his arm, peering at him, electric blue eyes filled with worry. He drew in a ragged breath, recovering from the flashback. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. It had been a bad one. Very, very bad.  

He looked down at his forearm, where the Mark had been, eyes bleak. “Free. Yeah. Great. The cost, though. Way too high, Cas.” He looked back at the angel, and repeated, “Way too high." 

He brushed off Cas’s hand, pushed the plate of half-eaten pie back, and stood up. He dropped a twenty on the counter. "Let’s go see if Mr. Triple-A Action has that file ready yet." 

*** 

Dean handed the printout to Cas. "Here. Go find where she was.” Cas took the sheet, looked down at it, and vanished. 

Dean quickly glanced around the parking lot, praying no one had seen the abrupt disappearance. Just as he heaved a sigh of relief that there was no one pointing and/or staring, Cas reappeared. 

“I found it,” he said abruptly, eyes worried. He placed a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder, and a moment later they were standing together in a small, rustic cabin. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, falling across a scene of mayhem: furniture tumbled, smashed phone, iPad askew in one corner, Surface halfway beneath the stove, papers scattered across the floor. The door had been smashed off its frame, and a dry, mild breeze ruffled the papers and cooled the two of them off from the late autumn humidity of Kentucky. 

“Cas. A little more warning would be nice." 

_Oh, joy, another few days of constipation…_

Cas was looking around, and absently murmured, "Sorry.” He knelt on one knee by the overturned table, ran his finger through something on the floor and looked closely at it, rubbing his fingers together. “Blood." 

"Son of a bitch.” Dean breathed. He caught sight of Charlie’s katana; it was wedged beneath the sofa. He pulled it out. There was blood on the blade, too, but not much. “At least she had a chance to put up a fight. But it looks like whoever it was took her out quickly. Dammit!” He went around the room, righting various overturned pieces of furniture. Trying to neaten things up served two purposes: it was one way of directing a search–anything right side up meant he had already checked near that piece–and it made him feel like he was doing something to get closer to Charlie’s current location. But it wasn’t really working very well on the second front.  

They spent an hour searching. Dean finally sank onto the only kitchen chair to have survived intact, rested his elbows on his knees, ran his hands through his hair, and sighed. “I got nothing, man. Nothing." 

Cas leaned against the kitchen counter, crossed his arms, and sighed, too. The sunlight pouring in sparkled on his short black hair and outlined his trench coat. Suddenly, he leaned forward and pointed. "What is that?” 

“That” was a small swatch of fabric sticking out from the corner of a cabinet door. 

Dean squatted down to look more closely, opened the door and pulled the object out. He turned it over in his hands, examining it. It seemed to be a keychain; on one end of the heavy black fabric was the usual key ring–but no keys–and on the other was a black medallion with a raised blood-red design of a circle with eight sinuous lines spiraling inward and converging on a much smaller central circle, filled with white enamel. 

Dean turned it over and over, thinking. Cas leaned over him as he thought, studying the medallion himself. Finally, Dean said, “I’m missing something here, Cas. I _know_ I’ve seen this before. I swear I know this design. But it’s not coming to me. What about you?” He handed it to Cas and stood up with a small grunt. 

Cas turned it so the design was upward. He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before."  

Dean took it back and placed it on the table, design side up. "Well, I can’t recognize it and you haven’t seen it before, but it’s our only clue.” He pulled out his cellphone, turned on the camera, and snapped a few quick pictures. “Maybe one of our guys will be able to ID it.” He leaned back against the table and started composing a text message attached to the pictures. “We’ve got to find her, Cas. The longer it takes…” He stopped. 

Cas nodded. “The less likely it is that she’ll be okay. I know. We’ll find her, Dean.” But his expression showed less hope, a sad shadow in his eyes. 

Replies to Dean’s mass text message to all his Hunter contacts trickled in over the next few hours. “Nope.” “Sorry, buddy, no idea.” “Never seen it before.” “No.” “What da fuck _is_ that thing???" 

When the last reply, from Rudy, came in, it was another bust. The sun had set in a tangle of gloriously glowing orange and red clouds, truly beautiful, but Dean stood in the shattered doorway watching it with blind eyes; the beauty was lost on him today. He swayed, rhythmically slapping the door jamb, staring, unfocused, into the woods across the meadow. The gathering twilight seemed too apt to him, an omen of what might be happening to Charlie right now. And they still had no idea where they had taken her. Or who "they” were. Or what “they” wanted. 

He spun around. Cas was sitting at the table, emanating calm patience. But Dean didn’t want patience right now, he needed to be doing something, anything. 

“Dammit, Cas! Nothing. None of them recognize it.” He strode into the room, grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped it open, and took a long drink. He half-sat, half-leaned on the table, then rubbed the cool throat of the beer bottle across his forehead, and glared down at his friend. “And you _swear_ you can’t sense her anywhere.” His voice was dubious, as if he were pleading with Cas to tell him that that had somehow changed since the last time he asked. 

Cas shrugged uncomfortably. “No. No, I can’t feel her. They must have her strongly warded.” He opened his mouth to continue, frowned sadly, and didn’t say what he had been about to say, but Dean knew: Or she’s already dead.  

They stayed like that for a while, then Cas murmured softly, “If we had Sam here, or Charlie…or the bunker…there’d be some leads, some info. We need their researching expertise…" 

Dean nodded silently. Then he froze. "Wait a minute. Wait just one God-damned minute. When we were talking with her, when they broke in–didn’t she say something about a lead on an occult researcher? Something about having called this person, leaving her number, mine?” He stood up, looking wildly around the room. “Where’s her phone? Maybe we can find this person’s number!" 

Cas leaned down to pick up the mangled black rectangle, which was at his feet, and handed it wordlessly to Dean, who stared at the mess in dismay. The phone was smashed, the screen shattered, the frame twisted. He snorted. "Well. Ain’t that a bitch. There goes that idea." 

"I remember that conversation,” Cas leaned back, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Didn’t Charlie say she had emailed the info on this person–Lipper? Lippson?–to you?" 

Dean, wide-eyed, yanked his phone out of his back pocket and opened his email, chanting softly, "C'mon, Charlie, c'mon, Charlie–ah! Oh, you sweet thang, you!” There it was, an email from Charlie, terse in word as she never was in person:  

“Dean–occult researcher, name Danielle Lippmann, phone 212-555-4234. Have left msgs. Xoxo, C.“ 

He hit the underlined number with a trembling finger, held the phone up to his ear, and listened to it ring. He was rocking back and forth, heel, toe, heel, toe, muttering, "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" 

"Damn! No answer!” he swore, listening to the message. He left his current alter-ego’s name and phone number, ended the connection, and stared at Cas, lips folded. “Awesome,” he said sourly. 

“Well, there’s not much to do right now…except you need to eat. Fix something, eat it, try again later?” Cas said. 

Dean nodded. 

By the time Cas bullied him into lying down to sleep, there had been no call back. Dean had left three more messages, each slightly more urgent than the previous one. He stretched out on the sofa, sure that he would be unable to fall asleep, and fell directly into darkness. Cas smiled down at him fondly, pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa, tucked it around his friend, and let his hand linger a moment on the sleeping shoulder. “Rest well,” he said softly, sending a small trickle of power into Dean to ensure peaceful sleep. He turned and left the cabin to wander the woods and revel in the sounds of nighttime wildlife and the glory of the stars.


	8. Jailbreak (Thin Lizzy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas finally contact the occult researcher, Danielle Lippmann, who gives them info on the medallion. They use the info to track down where Charlie is being kept prisoner, and mount a rescue mission.
> 
> * * *

Dean had exercised enormous restraint in not calling again. He was reduced to pacing the small cabin, impatience manifesting in a need to do something, anything physical. He had considered going outside, chopping firewood, stocking up for whoever used the cabin next. But chopping meant noise, and maybe missing the call back. So here he was, pacing. 

Cas was watching YouTube videos on the laptop. The last time he had looked over, Cas had been playing a compendium of cute animals doing cute animal things, being utterly…well, cute. 

It was ten o'clock before the phone rang. 

Dean pounced on the phone, stabbed at the answer button. 

“Hello?” A light, pleasant voice asked, “Is this Brian Roberts? Danielle Lippmann, returning your calls." 

He motioned urgently at Cas, who flipped the laptop closed and sat up with an expression of interest. 

“Ms. Lippmann, thanks for getting back to me…” So he went through the situation–censored, of course. How they had found this odd medallion, none of their usual contacts could identify it, and maybe she could help? A break for some dickering as to price–she said she typically asked for $50 per hour, plus any “esoteric information” they had as the other half of the payment. But, as he was a potential long-term client–he was, wasn’t he, she asked, and he assured her that they had lost contact with their usual researcher and sometimes needed help–small initial projects were typically free as an example of her work. She had another client on retainer, whose project took priority, but she’d be able to help on an occasional basis. 

She was very businesslike. 

He sent her the photo. 

When she received it, he heard an indrawn breath from her end of the line, then she said, slowly, “Oh, yes, I recognize that symbol." 

He grinned fiercely and made a thumbs-up at Cas. "Getting somewhere,” he muttered softly. Cas nodded, eyebrows raised in expectation. 

 “Awesome! Have any info on who might be looking for this medallion? We’d like to return it to its owner, if possible.“ He made a "what the hell” grimace at Cas, and shrugged his shoulders. He’d found that Doing Good Deeds was usually a good way to get people to help. 

She gave a small puff of laughter. “I’m not sure you really want to be doing that. As you are a potential long-term client, it would be a bad idea not to warn you. The medallion is a kind of…” she paused, obviously trying to think how to say it. “A kind of gang symbol. These are very dangerous people to deal with, Mr. Roberts. And you really don’t want to run into the big boss, if at all possible.”

_Dangerous? Hunh. No big surprise._

“If I’m returning it to its owner, how dangerous can it be?“ 

She was quiet for a noticeable time. Then: "Look. Mr. Roberts, you contacted me because I’m an expert in esoteric research, correct?"  

_Where’s this going?_

"Um, yeah…?" 

“Just how familiar are you with the…the more esoteric features…sorry, I don’t quite know how to phrase this…the non-natural aspects of our world?" 

Dean stiffened, and gave Cas a significant look. Cas raised an enquiring eyebrow. 

Dean spoke slowly, trying to figure out how much to spill. In their own network, with someone who had come recommended by another Hunter, or a friend of a Hunter, he’d be quite open. But this Lippmann woman was an unknown; he had no idea how Charlie had found her. 

“Well, you could say I’m very familiar with what ordinary people would label 'the supernatural’…" 

"Just how familiar is that? Look. I’m trying to gauge your knowledge level here. Monsters? Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, demons…?" 

"Ganked 'em all,” he said, lightly. 

“Ahhhh. Might you be a Hunter?“ Her voice was cool. "That would make this explanation easier." 

_Oh, hell, all in, I guess!_

"Yes." 

“So how familiar are you with the events of last May?" 

He snorted. "Very." 

“Hmmmm.” She sounded somewhat skeptical. But “all in” came in varying flavors of “all”, and he certainly wasn’t going to say he had been right there when it all went down. Besides, what the hell did that have to do with this medallion, and the people who had captured ( _Please, God, not killed!_ ) Charlie?

It was very strange, coming at a conversation like this from the other side. Usually it was him and Sam gently revealing the dark backdrop behind normal life to civilians. This was the first time he was getting the lecture from someone else. 

She sighed. “Okay, then. Here’s the scoop. If you’re 'familiar’ with last May’s…occurrences, then you know that Lucifer has been freed from his cage again, and has a vessel." 

Dean closed his eyes in sudden pain and guilt. Oh, yes, he knew that! Cas stood up, came over, placed a hand on his shoulder. Comfort? Support? Dean knew he could hear the entire conversation, or maybe feel the cell phone wavelengths in his multi-dimensional bones. If he had bones. Cas would know how that sentence had hit him.  

He grunted encouragement for her to continue.

"The symbol on the medallion is the sigil of a demon ‘gang’, a group who work very closely with Lucifer. They run…special errands for him. Do…things for him. If you found one of their medallions in the course of whatever you were doing, you are far too close to being of interest to him. Like I said, dangerous." 

She paused. He didn’t say anything. 

"Mr. Roberts?" 

“Yeah. I’m here.” He drew in a deep breath. “So where would this demon gang typically hang out?" 

She paused again. "Well! I can see that this is likely to be a short-term business relationship, after all.” Her voice was light, but the warning was obvious.

“Just tell me,” he gritted out. 

She gave him three locations. He scribbled them down on a piece of scratch paper, and was about to thank her, when another question occurred to him. Not that it was important, just curiosity. “So what does the design mean? Where’d it come from?" 

"Not sure. All I have is rumor. Some folks say it’s a representation of the sixty-sixth seal, when the Cage was opened the first time, six years ago." 

_~~Lillith’s blood pours from her body, snaking around like a living thing, forming a circle. Sinuous lines of blood start to spiral to the center of the circle. He doesn’t pay attention, too busy advancing on Ruby, that poisonous, treacherous bitch. He pulls the knife. Sam, his face a mask of fear, fury, and betrayal, grabs Ruby from behind, pinning her arms. He leans forward, punches the knife into Ruby’s abdomen, watching with feral glee, teeth bared, as the red death light glows through her mouth, her eyes, her skull. He pulls the knife out. Ruby’s body slumps to the ground. He and Sam turn to look at the lines of blood spiraling inward, meeting at the center point, and the brilliant white light pouring out from the Cage.~~_

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed hollowly. Oh, yes, that was what the symbol was. He should have recognized it right away. He drew in another deep breath, braced his shoulders, and said, “Thanks for the info, Ms. Lippmann. You’ve been extremely helpful. I’m sure if we need any more odd research, you’ll be our first call." 

She snorted. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting another call from you. Good bye, Mr. Roberts.” She ended the call. 

He slowly took the phone from his ear, and stared sightlessly down at it in his hand. Cas squeezed his shoulder.  

“That’s why I recognized it,“ Dean muttered. "And why you didn’t." 

"Dean. This makes it all the more urgent to find Charlie. They’ve tied her into what you Hunters have been doing, stopping the Croatoan research. They will want to make her…talk…tell them about the others…about you."  

Dean nodded. "Yeah. We’ve got work to do, cas.”

*** 

Cas scouted the locations Lippmann had given them. It took longer this time; their knowledge of who the captors were, and who they were associated with, made Dean nervous and anxious for Cas’s safety, so he stressed the need for caution. 

When Cas returned, Dean had a map spread out on the table, the three locations marked. Cas, eyes hooded and dangerous, stabbed a finger down on the mark outside Toledo, Ohio. "There. An abandoned warehouse." 

Dean quirked a mildly amused eyebrow at him. "Of course it’s an abandoned warehouse. Isn’t it always?" 

Cas frowned, unamused. Dean hid a small smile. Cas was very focused when he went into warrior mode. Cute animal videos wouldn’t stand a chance with him right now. 

“There are at least fifteen demons. Six on guard outside, three stationed in the outer corridors–here, here, here–and six clustered in the center of the building. There may be more, hidden by warding. I can’t sense Charlie, so I can’t just translocate and grab her. I think…Even with you wielding the demon knife, it might be advisable to have assistance.” He squinted down at the map, tapping it absently, tumbling the details of the combat layout over in his thoughts.

“No. No outsiders. I failed Charlie. I’ll make sure we get her back.” Dean’s voice was even, uninflected. But Cas knew that tone, knew the anger and determination behind it. He frowned at his friend again. 

“Strategically–" 

"I said, 'No’. You and me, Cas. That’s it. I don’t give a flying fuck about 'strategy’. I want a fast raid, in, get her, out, done as soon as possible. We don’t have any extra time to waste getting some other Hunters in on this. Every moment we wait…” He let it trail off. 

Cas thought for a few more moments, pressed his lips together disapprovingly, then finally nodded. “Yes. The time question is of utmost urgency. So. You and I, in fast, out fast." 

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man.” He reached behind, checking for the demon knife in its waist sheath, shifting gear into fight mentality.

*** 

It was actually an abandoned refinery in the Ironville Docks area. Signs posted on the fencing indicated it was slated for redevelopment by the Toledo Port Authority. Dean was vaguely surprised that Toledo had a port authority; when he thought of “ports”, he thought of coastal cities. Not some medium sized city smack in the middle of America’s heartland. But, then, it _was_ on Lake Erie. He shrugged, dismissed the question, and went back to scoping out the locations of the demons on guard outside. He elbowed Cas, pointing to the three derelicts by the back entry of the main building. Cas nodded, silently indicating three more men on a catwalk above the entry. 

Dean tapped Cas’s shoulder, pointed to the catwalk grouping, and waved him in with a two-fingered gesture. Cas vanished. Dean himself strode swiftly toward the three on the ground, breaking into a run as he came within their sight. 

The three demons began to run towards him. As the first one approached, he dodged, braced with one leg, and pivoted as the man passed him, blade arcing over and into the demon’s back. One down. He continued the pivot so he was poised to face the second one running toward him. He swayed back to avoid the knife coming at him, reached out with his left hand to seize the demon’s extended arm and slid his own knife in under it. The demon knife sliced into the guard’s stomach. The man coughed, screamed, and the typical sputtering electric sound of demon death echoed in the early twilight silence of the refinery yards. 

Knife work was like a particularly vicious kind of dance, Dean thought absently.

The third demon hesitated, made cautious by Dean’s quick work with the other two. As he paused, Cas appeared behind him, took a step forward and laid his hand on his head. The demon’s eyes flamed out. He sank downward, dead before he hit the ground. 

“Good work,“ Dean panted, catching his breath. "The other three?”

“Dead,” Cas replied shortly. 

They moved to the doorway the three demons had been guarding. Cas raised his hand, preparing to break the door in with his power, but Dean grabbed his arm and hissed, “Quiet. Quietly, Cas. Remember the plan, man. You can blast the inner door, when we need to surprise the guards. I got this one." 

Dean rummaged in his pockets for his picklock, then made quick work of opening both the padlock and door lock. He gently eased the door open, knife in hand, poked his head around the edge of the door, and did a quick visual scan of the area inside. No one. He gestured Cas in and entered the corridor.  

Once they were inside, Cas pulled out the refinery layout they had printed out. They had determined their inside attack plan before moving in, so he merely looked at Dean while tapping one mark. Dean nodded and moved leftward down the corridor towards the guard indicated by the mark. Cas moved quietly in the opposite direction. 

The demon he was to take out turned out to be a piss poor guard, slouched against a corridor wall, phone in hand, obviously playing a game, completely engrossed. Dean rolled his eyes, almost pitying the guy. Too damned easy. He walked up, knife in hand, and the guard didn’t even look up until the knife was in his chest. 

Dean wiped the knife on the dead guard’s clothes, looked down at him, shook his head, and said ruefully, "Dude. Rule number one: fucking pay attention!”

Regardless. One guard might be a worthless sack of shit, but it was a bad idea to think they all were. He strode down the corridor, reached the end, paused against the wall and snaked his head around the corner. Clear. He turned right and moved down it to the point where another corridor intersected to the right again, heading toward the center of the building. Once again, he quickly glanced down the new corridor, then withdrew. 

The last guard was there, standing before a door. That was the place; six more demons were behind that door. This was it. 

Cas appeared behind him. “All clear,” he murmured. 

“Last one is there before the door. Like we planned: You take him out, wait for me, blast the door down, in we go.” Cas nodded and vanished again. 

Dean craned his head around the corner in time to see Cas appear to one side of the guard and place one hand over his mouth. Cas supported the dead body as it slid to the floor, making sure there was no noise. 

It was mighty damned useful to have a demon-smiter on one’s side. 

Cas gestured him forward. Dean padded quietly to join him. Cas mouthed “Ready?” to him; he nodded. Cas raised his hand, braced himself, and concentrated.

A blue-white spot appeared on the door, small at first, accompanied by a quiet, high-pitched hum. The spot rapidly grew larger. The hum grew in volume. Dean braced himself, too, ducked his head, and covered it with a protective arm. 

The door blew inward with a very satisfying boom. 

It was chaos inside. Six startled demons, running around. The more alert were running to the door to stop whoever had broken in, the less alert just running aimlessly. A table with chairs to one side of the room. A door on the back wall, leading to another room. 

Cas strode forward, face grim and focused, reaching out with both hands to grasp the heads of the two nearest demons and blast them with blue-white energy. He barely broke stride as they began to fall, red demon death light shining from various orifices. He was already reaching for the next demon running forward before the previous two hit the ground. 

Meanwhile, Dean had slid through the door behind him, and headed straight for the nearest demon by the table. He punched with the demon knife, felt it jam into bone. He swore as the demon’s body fell, yanking the blade from his hand.  

Aimless demon number two was suddenly no longer aimless; his face lit up with glee and he bared his teeth with triumph as he realized Dean was weaponless. He made a sweeping gesture, and Dean was flung across the room to smash awkwardly, painfully against the wall. Then he fell to the floor in a dazed heap. He shook his head to clear it, then quickly scanned his immediate vicinity for something he could use as a weapon.

In the background, Cas had finished smiting his third demon. That left aimless number two (Dean’s immediate threat) and focused number four (now backing away from Cas). Two demons left. 

Dean staggered forward, unbalanced, and seized a chair from beside the table, swinging it with full force at aimless number two. It landed with a loud crunch, and aimless number two fell backward. Unfortunately, he bounced right back up and ran straight toward Dean, head down like a battering ram. Dean whooped for breath as the demon’s head connected, knocking him over. He landed on his back beside the table with the demon squarely on top, straddling him. 

The demon locked his hands around his throat and started squeezing. He was smiling wildly. Then his eyes widened with recognition, and his smile turned even wilder. 

“Fucking Dean Winchester!“ he hissed. "Hot damn, just wait 'til the boss gets his hands on you! Bonus time for me, pretty boy!” He was so excited he bounced. On Dean’s stomach. Dean’s stomach protested. Loudly. 

Dean looked over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t count on that bonus if I were you, smartass,” he choked out through the throat-hold. 

The demon sneered. “Aw, man, you don’t really think I’m gonna fall for that old 'someone’s behind you’ bullshit, do you?" 

Dean shrugged. "Not really.” Red light flared, the death sputter sounded, and the demon collapsed on him, dead, the hands around his neck releasing their hold. ”Shoulda believed me, man,” he added.

Then: “Cas, get this dude off me." 

Cas rolled the dead demon off, and extended a hand to help Dean stand up. Dean straightened slowly, twisted his torso to pop out the kinks, and rubbed his neck, turning his head from side to side. 

“Son of a bitch! Hurts like a mother-fucker!” he said hoarsely.

“But you _are_ okay?” Cas asked, concerned.  

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll live. That all of them?" 

"Yes,” Cas said. He stood looking at the door in the back wall. Dean joined his side, and looked with him. “Charlie should be in there,” he added. Dean nodded. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob, closed his eyes, then turned it. _What if she’s already dead? Or dying?_ Nothing to do but open it and see. 

He pushed the door open. It was a small, dingy room. The only furnishing was a bare bones cot up against the farther wall. Charlie was sitting on the cot, back straight, feet on the floor, arms by her sides, red hair flaming in the dim light.  

Dean heaved a huge sigh of relief and moved forward, followed closely by Cas. 

“Charlie. Oh, God, Charlie. We’re getting you out of here.“ His voice was gentle. There were no marks on her, but something struck him as odd about the way she sat. "C'mon, kiddo. Let’s go. On your feet." 

She gave no response, just stared straight ahead. A sick feeling washed over him. He waved a hand in front of her face, then patted it sharply. 

“Charlie? Snap out of it!” Still no response. Her eyes didn’t follow his hand movements; it was like he wasn’t even there. He turned a panicked face toward Cas. 

“Cas. Cas, dammit, what’s wrong with her?“ 

Cas knelt by the bed, and laid a hand on Charlie’s forehead. His vivid blue eyes unfocused, then he sighed, withdrew his hand, and looked at Dean, troubled. "I’m not quite sure. There is no physical damage, but something is very wrong with her…mind? Emotions? They did something to her." 

"Well, dammit, fix her! And then let’s get out of here!” His heart was breaking. He couldn’t handle seeing her like this, hearing Cas’s explanation; he was supposed to _protect_ her, dammit! Like he was supposed to protect Sammy… He wanted to punch something, hurt the people responsible. 

“Dean…” Cas paused. “This is not something I can cure right away. It will take time.” He paused again. “We should go." 

Dean nodded numbly. He scooped Charlie’s small body into his arms. Her body was limp, non-resistant. She was so small. So vulnerable. He straightened up painfully, hugged her close, leaning his head over hers, hiding the tears he struggled to keep in. They’d fix whatever was wrong with her. Of course.  

"Dean.” Cas said with sudden urgency, looking to the door. “We need to leave. _Now_." 

Dean nodded again. "Okay,” he mumbled. He turned to Cas, waiting for him to sweep them away to the cabin. He kept his own head down, leaning protectively on Charlie’s. 

That’s how he saw the feet in the white shoes walk through the doorway. 

Cas’s fingers gripped urgently at his upper arm, but they did not vanish. 

He lifted his head. 

Tall. Long red-brown hair slicked back. Long craggy face. Long sensitive fingers. White suit, white shirt, blood-red rose through one lapel. 

He froze. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just looked.

A lopsided smile settled on that painfully familiar face, beneath sympathetic eyes. 

“Dean.“ 

Sam’s voice, Sam’s face, Sam’s body, but bloody hell, _not_ Sam. Sam didn’t look out of those blue-green eyes, didn’t smile that smug lopsided smile, never, _ever_ wore clothes like that. It hadn’t been Sam looking out of that body for months, since that night he said "Yes” so firmly, in exchange for the Mark of Cain being erased from his brother’s arm, the night Dean had killed Cas and Crowley to get to Sam, stop him from making that deal, the night the bunker was smashed to a million tiny pieces. 

Dean bit his lip until it almost bled.  

The face turned its lopsided smile to Cas. “And my oh-so-strange, very much younger brother Castiel." 

Castiel inclined his head. "Lucifer. Brother,” he said gravely. His fingers dug into Dean’s upper arm even harder, belying his calm demeanor. 

Rising fury gave Dean his ability to speak again. 

“Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Brother,“ he grated out.


	9. Another Brick In The Wall (Pink Floyd)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean investigate tha Brady Academy, but Hallucifer begins to make inroads with Sam. And then things start to get surreal.
> 
> * * *

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in the parking lot of the Brady Academy, got out, and stood there staring at the school, absently jingling the car keys in his hand. Sam eased his long legs out of the passenger side, stood up, and leaned his arms against Baby above the door, watching his brother. Finally, when Dean made no move, Sam asked, "You okay?"

Even though the grounds looked like a college campus, groomed and lush and filled with adolescents moving from one building to another, he knew Dean hadn't missed the fencing camouflaged by tall hedges that surrounded the facility. And it was hard to miss the guarded gateway leading in, especially since they had had to stop and flash their badges to get in.

Dean started, looked around, tossed his keys one last time, and pocketed them. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just..." He paused and looked around. "...different..."

"Different...?" Sam prompted.

"Well, it's no Sonny's Home for Boys, y'know? I think I lucked out." He ran his hand around the back of his neck, shrugged, and said, "Let's go." He started striding toward the administration building and Sam stretched his legs to catch up, then fell into easy rhythm with him. They were halfway there when Dean stopped, looked to his left, and waved a hand to stop his brother.

"You go on; I think I'll go chat with them."

He indicated a quiet, downcast group of younger adolescents sitting on the grass beneath a large oak tree; the oldest seemed like they were maybe fourteen. Dean lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and Sam nodded in response, then headed on as Dean angled leftward.

Hallucifer suddenly appeared in front of him, walking backwards. Sam focused on the building he was heading for, refusing to pay his personal albatross any attention. Without a pause, Hallucifer said, "So, Sam. I had this great idea. See, I'm really, _really_ trying to get you to bust through this thing. And you're really, _really_ trying to ignore me. But while we were at the coroner's lab, you actually noticed me, when I was humming. I know it. So, I said to myself, 'Self, this could be a good thing.' And we talked it over. So. I tell you this isn't real, it's the same ol' same ol', but if I sing it, see, that'll be harder for you to ignore."

Sam followed the pathway up to the building doors, his jaw working. Hallucifer stationed himself before the doors, arms crossed. "So whaddaya say, bunk buddy? Think it'll work?"

Sam reached through him and pulled the door open.

"Well! That's just rude!"

***  
Dean sauntered over to the group under the tree. Three boys, two girls, ranging from 12 to 14. Without moving a muscle, they all seemed to withdraw as he approached.

"Hey there."

"Hey," echoed politely from around the group, but the eyes were wary, expressions guarded.

He pulled off his jacket, loosened his tie, and sat down in the grass with them. They shifted, not a lot, but just enough so that, instead of it being a circle he had just joined, it was him sitting across from the group. Lines drawn: Us Versus The Man.

"I'm here investigating the death of Joe Ellis, a teacher here. Any of you know him?"

Five stony faces said nothing. Then one of the boys, black-haired and lean-faced, jammed his hand in the grass, glared down at it, and muttered something. The girl next to him hissed, "Shut _up_ , Daniel!", and punched him in the arm.

"Sorry, didn't catch that...?" Dean said encouragingly. This was a tough group.

"We're not supposed to talk about it," the girl said, frowning at him, pushing her purple and blue hair out of her face.

At the same time, the black-haired boy said angrily, "I said, couldn't happen to a nicer guy!"

The others in the group shifted again, looking away, or down.

"Aw, c'mon, Lexi! Everybody knows he was a dick! Why can't we say it? He was a major dick, and he's the reason Gracie--"

Lexi pushed him, then abruptly grabbed her backpack and stood up. "I'm leaving." She tossed her head, slung the backpack over her shoulder, adjusted her bra straps, and added, "Anyone else?" Daniel glared at her, but the other three also stood up. "Nice to meetcha, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is," she sneered, and she marched off, the others trailing behind. A girl with long, dark hair glanced back, started to say something, then shrugged and hurried to catch up. Dean looked across at the dark-haired boy.

"So, Daniel...want to tell me about it? About Gracie? About Ellis, and why he's a dick?"

Daniel looked down at the ground, back hunched. He started pulling clumps of grass and tossing them away. "Nah. Nobody believes us anyway, so what's the point?"

Dean regarded him calmly, leaning comfortably back on one arm. "You'd be surprised at the things I'll believe. Give it a try."

Daniel shot him a skeptical glance. "Nah. I don't think so." He grabbed his stack of books and stood up. "Just...just don't believe everything _they_ tell you." He gestured at the administration building. "Gotta go, I have algebra next." With that, he headed off. Dean watched him go, frowning.

***  
_Well. That was interesting_ , Sam thought as he knocked on the headmaster's door and opened it.

"What was interesting, Sam?" Hallucifer asked. "What Dean got out of the kids? Has it occurred to you to wonder how you know...?" Sam resolutely ignored him, but the question lingered in his mind.

"Mr. Barnes? I'm Agent Rick Philips, FBI, here to talk about Joe Ellis's death?"

The man behind the desk stood up and held out a welcoming hand; he was fit and trim, with close-cut grey hair and pale blue eyes, dressed in a neat dark blue suit. There was a vague air of retired military about him; it might have been the way he held himself, tall and erect. They shook hands, and Barnes waved him to a seat. Hallucifer took up station leaning on the window seat behind Barnes. He was juggling knives.

"Thank you for coming, Agent Philips. Anything we can do to help. We're all very shocked, of course, Joe was a valued member of our wilderness staff and we're going to miss him."

"Your 'wilderness staff'...?" Sam prompted.

"Yes. We have a two-pronged approach here at Brady, when dealing with troubled teens. We focus on academics, but we intersperse six weeks of academics with one-month stints in various wilderness situations." He leaned back, ran a hand over the top of his head, and sighed. "Some of these kids are angry, distrustful, stuck in a mindset where they can't--won't--believe in themselves, deal with authority poorly. They live in a social media echo chamber, where whatever they say, they have 'friends'"--Barnes put the word in air quotes--"who will back them up, believe them no matter what. Mom or dad gets angry, kid goes online and rants about it, the 'friends' reaffirm that they're right, mom or dad is wrong, and around and around it goes." He rocked his executive chair thoughtfully for a few moments, then continued, "So we take them out in the real world, remove their electronics, make them learn to rely on themselves and their fellow students. They learn that you need to do things right in the real world, that mommy and daddy aren't always there to clean up after them, that mastering basic skills--cooking, cleaning, finding shelter, making a fire--can be rewarding."

Sam felt like he was listening to a canned advertisement usually pitched at worried parents. He kept his reservations to himself, and gestured Barnes to continue.

"Anyway. Joe was one of our wilderness group leaders. He knows--knew--" Barnes corrected himself. "Knew how to reach these kids. Didn't put up with the typical teen BS. Kids came back from his trips changed, better. Like I said, we'll miss him."

Sam wondered how to square this glowing depiction with the kid's--Daniel's?--charge that Ellis was a dick.

Hallucifer dropped the knives with a clatter and shook a finger at him. "Ah ah ah, Sammy! You don't know what the kids said, remember? You haven't seen Dean yet, remember?"

Speaking of Dean...there was a knock at the door, and he leaned his head in. "Agent Philips?" He jerked his head toward the hallway. Sam held up a hand, urging him to wait a moment.

"So, Mr. Barnes. Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Ellis, kill him?"

Barnes shook his head. "Nope. No-one. He was a good man."

Sam stood up, reached over the desk, and shook Barnes's hand again. "Well. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Barnes. If you think of anything else, no matter how small or odd, call me." He handed over his card, nodded, and headed out the door, Dean falling into step with him when he entered the hall.

Hallucifer followed. He was singing, not very well. "Aaaaalll the leaves are browwwwwn, and the skyyyy is greeeeeyyy. I went for a waaaaalllk on this winter's daaaay. I'd be safe and warrrrrm if I was in LA....CALIFORNIA DREEEEAMIIING..."

"So what'd you get?" He asked Dean. Dean recounted his interview with the teens under the tree. Sam nodded at all the right places, as if it were new to him.

As they got in the Impala, he wondered just how he had known what the kids had said to Dean before he told him.

Hallucifer started singing again. "Sweet dream are made of thiiiis, who has a mind to disagreeeee, sailed the world and the seven seeeeas..."

 _Eurythmics_ , Sam thought. _Good song._

***  
Back at The Hummingbird, Sam started digging into the Brady Academy, while Dean warmed up burritos for them to eat and turned on the police scanner. It took hardly any digging for Sam to come up with something interesting.

"So, get this," he started. Both Dean and Hallucifer rolled their eyes; the phrase was cliche to them by now. Hallucifer was idly bouncing a tennis ball up against the wall. The microwave beeped. Dean pulled out the burritos, parceled them onto plates, dropped one plate on the table by his brother, and sat down across from him. 

"So what'd you find?" He started unwrapping a burrito, swearing under his breath as the steam poured out.

Sam talked while unwrapping his own. "That girl the kid mentioned--Gracie?"

Dean mumbled a "Mm-hmm" around a mouthful of beans, cheese, and tortilla.

"Turns out her name is Grace Fielding. She's dead." Dean raised his eyebrows in interest. "Yeah. Apparently, she got appendicitis while out on one of those month-long wilderness trips. When she started complaining about stomach pain, the trip leaders thought she was making it up, trying to pretend to be sick to get out of the rest of the trip. They told her to, get this, 'tough it out'." 

Dean frowned. "So what happened?" He unwrapped his second burrito.

"Three days later, they realized she wasn't pretending. They called it in, a medevac copter picked her up, but it was too late, her appendix had burst and gone septic already, and she died on the way to the hospital." Sam flipped the laptop closed.

"Damn sons of bitches!" Dean snarled.

"Yeah. Well. Joe Ellis was one of the trip leaders. The parents tried to get an investigation going, but a few days later, they shut up and the story disappeared. Nothing ever happened."

"So that's why Daniel said he was a dick..."

"Looks like."

"Damn. So, what? Did the school pay the parents off or something?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

Dean stared angrily into space. "Damn it to hell. Your kid gets into trouble, you get worried enough to send him or her off to a place you think is going to help, a place you think is safe, and something like that happens..."

They were both silent for a few minutes. Dean stood up and started pacing.

"Remind me again who the monsters are in this case, Sammy!" he snarled angrily. Sam slouched down in his chair, pushed his hair out of his face and sighed.

"Humans can be pretty monstrous, too, we've learned that, Dean."

"Hell, if the guy weren't already dead, I'd be tempted to gank him on general principles!" Dean said. He stopped by the window and looked out, rocking back and forth on his feet. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "So...what are we thinking here...the parents?"

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. A monster having teen problems with his kid? Sounds a bit odd, if you ask me."

The police scanner, which had been fairly quiet, suddenly erupted with noise. Dean went over to it to listen. Sam worked on eating his burritos. Hallucifer, apparently bored with tossing the tennis ball, burst into song. 

"I walk this empty street along the boulevard of broken dreams, where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and I walk alone, I walk alone, I walk aloooooone..."

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, startling him. "We've got another one. Let's go." Sam glanced at Hallucifer, and said, slowly, "You go. I think I'll hit the sack, I'm worn out."

"Suit yourself. Back in a few." With that, Dean grabbed his jacket and headed out the motel room door. Sam looked at the closed motel room door for a while, trying not to think.

***  
"Dr. Wojciech...I hear we've got another of our brainless mummies." Dean stuck his head in the lab door. Wojciech looked up and motioned him in.

"Yup. Another of those Brady Academy types. Female this time, Liz Klein. Same exact thing--mummified, skull cut open, brains scooped out. They found her on the school grounds, too."

***  
Sam opened the laptop and re-read the article on Grace Fielding's death. There it was: Liz Klein.

Hallucifer smiled widely. "You're getting there, Sam! You're getting there!" Then he started singing Aerosmith's "Dream On", dancing around the motel room.

Sam hunched his shoulders, gritted his teeth. If this kept up...the line between what was real and what wasn't was getting terrifyingly thin. His forehead was covered in sweat, his heart was pounding, and he found himself gasping for breath.

Hallucifer leaned over him solicitously. "Hey, Sammy, settle down there, boyo. I think there's a bag in the trash can, you can dig it out, breathe into it to calm down, y'know..."

Sam slammed his elbows down on the table, covering his ears with his hands.

_Not real, not real, not real!_

"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream...make him the sweetest that I've ever seen..." Hallucifer's falsetto rang in his ears.

***  
They were in the car.

_What the hell? How did that happen?_

Sam balled his hands into rigid fists and drew a shaky breath.

Dean was talking. "So I talked to those kids again; they were in a study room in the library building. Daniel wasn't there. They were scared. They said this Liz Klein woman was the other trip leader. They were all on this wilderness gig together...they're worried about Daniel, they say they haven't seen him since I talked to them yesterday--"

_Yesterday?!?_

"They say he was sweet on Gracie. Called them something like 'bays'?"

"'Baes'," Sam choked out. "Before all else. Like super best friends."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, no-one has seen Daniel, none of the teachers, staff, kids. I'm thinking he might be our monster. At the least, he's got a lot of reason to want those two dead--he may not have done it himself, but he knows something..."

Hallucifer started singing from the back seat. "Imma get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream toniiiiight..."

Sam twisted in his seat to look at him and said, tightly, "Okay, dude. Seriously? _Seriously?!? Katy Perry_?!?"

"What? Katy Perry? What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Dean asked, drawing his head back and giving Sam a perplexed look.

"Now, Sam. Ask him about that vacation. Now!" Hallucifer was utterly, deadly serious, no grins, no games, no snark. Sam stared at him, then looked at Dean.

"Sam, tell me what's going on here," Dean said, very evenly, glaring at the road ahead of them.

Sam took a shuddering breath. At this point, he couldn't tell what was real, what wasn't. He knew that Hallucifer was a manifestation of his subconscious. Maybe...maybe...maybe he was trying to tell himself something? All those songs about dreams?

"Hey, Dean, remember how you said we should take a vacation when the whole Mark of Cain thing was worked out...?"

Dean glanced over at him again, frowning. "Vacation? First Katy Perry, then vacation talk? Are you okay? But. Well, hell, Sam, yeah, sure. You want a vacation, we'll take one--after we're done with this case, after we've figured out that medical researchers thing. Go to Vegas, hey? Do some gambling, find some girls, watch porn, enjoy those 'magic fingers' beds--sounds good to me!" He reached over, punched the radio on, and shouted, over the music, "But first we have to find Daniel!" And he started humming along to the song, his hands drumming the steering wheel in time with the rhythm.

The hair rose on Sam's skin. His eyes widened. Not right. This wasn't right. Dean had been so adamant about going to the beach, so wistful about never having had a real vacation. He had specifically said, no holing up in a motel room watching porn. He wouldn't forget something like that--it was like how one of his lifelong goals was to finally see the Grand Canyon. So. If this Dean wasn't _his_ Dean...

What the hell was going on?

"Who...what...what _are_ you?" he asked the...person? Thing? Hallucination?...in the driver's seat.

Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes worried. Then he sighed. 

Then he changed. And Sam was looking at himself, except he never looked like this: long hair slicked back, white suit, white shoes, red rose in his lapel. The grey-green eyes were sympathetic, the smile lopsided.

"Sam. I tried so hard to keep you busy. Happy. Oblivious. Why couldn't you just let it be?"


	10. Just A Girl (No Doubt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani learns some valuable lessons about using demon powers, and she and Crowley locate Hell's arcane archives.
> 
> * * *

Dani opened her condo door with a sigh of relief. She had started the walk from Crowley's building with a small headache, but it had cleared, and now she was back at her nest. Bright; airy; vivid prints by John Nieto, Katie Sevigny, a few others, on the wall; light wood furniture; hardwood floors; French doors out to the side garden that the old lady upstairs maintained; her collection of paper mâché creatures from Jalisco, Day of the Dead figurines, and ceramic sugar candy skulls. It was just what she needed.

And Frank. 

Sitting on her sofa.

Which was just what she didn't need.

She closed the door with an irritated snap and carried the bag of groceries and the latest issue of _Journal des Pratiques Occultes_ into the kitchen.

"Hello, Frank. Make yourself at home."

There was spilled orange juice and an open bottle of champagne on the kitchen island. She hissed, dropped the bag and magazine, grabbed Windex, paper towels, and the cork, and cleaned the mess.

Frank sauntered in, a mimosa in one hand and a large legal-sized envelope in the other. 

"Dee, babe." He placed the envelope on the counter and leaned back on the counter next to it, one hand resting on it in a protective manner. "Make yourself a mimosa. We're celebrating...I made us a deal that will keep us happy forever." He patted the envelope.

Dani grabbed a knife, pulled out the veggies, and began savagely julienning a few carrots and scallions. She glared at Frank. "Frank, 'forever' is a very long time for a demon. You know that, right? Besides, we have a job right now."

"And that's why you're making your upgrade-the-ramen packs. Because you're going to have to go into research hibernation. But with this deal, babe, you'll never have to do that bullshit ever again."

_He just doesn't get it. Never has._

_~~well, it's frank.~~_

"Frank. I like doing research. It's _fun_." He rolled his eyes. She sighed, stuffed the chopped veggies into baggies, pulled out the butcher knife, and began chopping the chicken breasts. "Okay, I'll take a look at this deal of yours, see what I think. When I've finished with Crowley's job--" 

Frank took a sip of his mimosa, flashed his bright, toothy smile, and winked. "Well, that's the thing, Dee. This deal I made? See, these folks don't want Crowley off his leash. They want us to fail, they want us to string him along. And they'll pay us--damn, Dee, I'm telling you, we're set for life if we do it!" 

Dani froze momentarily, then kept chopping. "So. Who are these people?" She had a pretty good idea.

Frank grabbed the envelope, pulled out the documents, and handed her a business card. He was talking, but she didn't listen, her focus on the card. She didn't even look at the name--it was the logo that caught her attention: blood red circle, sinuous lines spiraling inward to a smaller central circle. Damn. She dropped the card onto the counter like it had bit her, and tapped it.

"Frank." She interrupted his flow of talk. "You _do_ know who this represents?"

He rolled his eyes again. "Yeah. Lucifer. Big deal." She closed her eyes, disbelieving. _Humans! He doesn't know, doesn't have a clue what Lucifer is like._ He stepped closer, put an arm around her waist, and pulled her close, leaning his sharp-planed face down at her with a big smile. "He can screw around with demons and angels and whatnot, and we can buy our own private islands and live like kings. Forever. C'mon, babe. No more hunting down jobs, no more weeks-long research hibernations for you, no more sales pitches, no more dealing with douchebags..."

_~~douchebags. does he know what 'irony' means?~~_

Dani looked down at her chopped chicken, at the knife she was holding. She gently pulled his arm away, turned him around, and gave him a little push toward the living room. "Let me finish this, Frank, and we'll talk." She moved her hand up to tousle his white-blond hair. 

Then she grabbed the hair, yanked his head back, and slashed his throat with the butcher knife. She sliced hard enough that she could feel the knife grate against his spine. She let go his hair and watched, eyes black, head tilted, face expressionless, as his body dropped to the floor, blood spraying out across her kitchen.

"Has anyone ever told you just what a bloody idiot you are, Frank?"

_~~whoa!~~_

_~~what--?!~~_

_~~i mean, i never liked him, but...uh...isn't this a bit drastic?~~_

_I don't renege on deals I've already made. Besides. A deal with Lucifer? Please. He wants to scour the earth clean of humans, demons, kill us all. We sign that contract and we're done for. Crowley might be the world's only chance._

_~~uh...okay...~~_

Innie-Me was quiet for a few moments, then:

_~~uh...so what now?~~_

_We keep working on Crowley's little issue._

_~~uh...that's not what i meant...we have a dead body in the kitchen. what are you going to do with it?~~_

Dani blinked. Actually, she hadn't even considered that. Her nice condo, her nest, her comfortable demon life...having the human authorities connect her to a body was not a good idea. Her previous kills had been in tandem with other demons, and there had always been someone to clear the mess away. Or it was done so there was no need to worry about anyone making connections; they'd just leave the body where it dropped. It would be hard for outsiders to avoid the connection here: her condo, her business partner slash sometimes-boyfriend dead on the floor...

"Oh."

_~~oh. yeah.~~_

Dani picked at her lower lip, thinking. Who could help? Jose? No. Too law-abiding. Jessie? No. She'd go into hysterics; for a demon, she was remarkably prissy. Alex? She had no idea how to contact him these days.

_~~can't you just magic him away?~~_

_I'm not sure how._

_~~power, will, word, right? like you said before.~~_

Dani regarded the body dubiously.

_I can give it a try, I suppose. You do know this is all new to me? A late blooming demon. I know the theory. Practice is different._

_~~you can do it! atta girl! go get 'em, tiger! just do something. i like our place. he's screwing us dead on the floor just as much as he did alive.~~_

Dani snorted softly, then nodded.

_Here goes._

She braced herself, thought of where to put the body--she remembered a particular dumpster outside a bar in Harlem; that would do--gathered her power (or tried to, anyway, it was hard to describe and even harder to do) and her will, and reached for another word of long-forgotten Latin. She stretched out her hand, palm forward, above Frank's body, and spoke: "Admove!"

The body vanished. 

Without warning, vertigo struck her like a tidal wave, and she dropped to the floor, unconscious.

***  
When she came to, she was lying in a puddle of Frank's cold blood. She moved her head, and a bolt of excruciating pain slammed through it. Her vision was filled with red and black lightning bolts that flickered in time with the body's pulse. Every inch of her skin felt like it had been flayed off. Deep inside her, Innie-Me was screaming. She sat up, and the movement sent still more pain stabbing through her.

She threw up.

It didn't help.

_~~stop it stop it stop it it hurts so bad oh god stop stop dani make it stop~~_

_SHUT UP, BITCH!!!_

Oh Lucifer, Azazel, and Lilith! In a panic, she opened the body's mouth to smoke out, but only had enough strength to trickle out a tiny bit of black smoke. She sucked it back in, and, helpless, angry, she started sobbing.

"Damn, damn, damn, DAMN!"

Each word sent another bolt through them.

She needed help. Dammit. She wiped her tears and dug in her pocket for her phone, wincing. When she got it out, she stared at it through eyes slitted against the pain. _Who the hell do I call?_ Finally, she gritted her teeth, scrolled through her contacts, and punched one with a trembling finger. As the phone rang, she drew in a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

"Redmond residence." It was Davis's voice.

"Davis?" Damn. Her voice was shaking. She dug deep for strength. "This is Dani Lippmann. Uh, is Mr. Redmond in?" There. Much less shaky.

"Miss Dani. I'm so sorry, but Mr. Redmond is away. May I take a message?"

_What now?_

"Davis, it's urgent that I reach him." Her voice was shaking again. She leaned her head against the side of the island, trying not to puke.

"Miss Dani...Miss Dani, are you all right?" He sounded concerned.

She laughed breathlessly, then winced. "No. Davis, I'm in a spot of trouble and need help. I thought Mr. Redmond might be able to assist me..."

"I'll be right over." He ended the call before she could say, "No!" She stared at the phone for a moment, then sighed. Davis would show up and go all human on her, freak out at the blood. And she was in no shape to cope with that. She closed her eyes, then the waves of pain overcame her and she passed out again.

***  
This time, when she came to, she was lying on her sofa with a blanket draped over her. The blinds were all drawn, the lights were dimmed, and she seemed to have earplugs in. She looked around, choking on the urge to throw up one more time.

Black hair, black suit, hands clasped behind his back, back to her, he was wandering around her living room, stopping to peer interestedly at each of her prints--oh, dammit, Crowley. Well, better him than Davis. He might actually know what was going on, which was why she had wanted to talk with him. She sat up. Red and black lightning struck her eyes, and, unable to stop it, she whimpered at the pain and sank back down.

He turned around at the sound and stood glaring at her, lips and arms folded.

"What the _hell_ do they teach in baby demon school these days?" he snarled. He waved an airy hand. "Oh, learning to use power, it's all sunshine and rainbow unicorn farts and grand demonic fun! What kind of frigging _idiot_ are you?!" he growled. She winced, grabbed a pillow and buried her head.

"Shut up," she snarled sullenly. He strode over to the sofa and thrust a thermos at her. 

"Take it."

She growled.

He shook it. "Take it and drink it, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"

"What is it?" she muttered, eyeing the thermos suspiciously from under the pillow.

"Poison." he answered sarcastically.

She snatched it from him. She sat up slowly, trying to ignore the pain stabbing through her body. The pillow slipped off her head and dropped to the floor, the blanket slid down, scraping against her sensitive, twitching skin. Someone had cleaned the blood and puke off of her. Crowley?

"I'm waiting." He was watching her with narrowed eyes and tapping his foot.

"What is it?" she repeated.

He threw his hands up. "You stubborn, suspicious git! It's medicine for a power hangover. Now be a good little demon and DRINK THE BLOODY STUFF!!" he roared.

She flinched, her head pounded by more painful jolts. Then she opened the thermos, peered inside, and sniffed it. She angled a look at him, lifted the thermos to her mouth and took a sip.

"Argh!" She made a disgusted face and drew her head back. "Oh, that is vile!"

"Of course it is. It's supposed to be vile, to teach... _stupid...baby...demons..._ " he spat out each word, "Not to overreach. Just in case the moronic demon who overreached didn't get the idea already. Now." He folded his arms again. "Where's the body?"

"What body?" she asked disingenuously, taking another cautious drink. It worked very quickly: she already didn't need to wince at sounds anymore.

He rolled his eyes. "The body that you tried to transport. Where did it end up?"

"How do you know--?"

"--that there was a body? Please." He looked insulted. "Do I _look_ like an idiot? Rhetorical question, of course I don't. Blood all over your kitchen and you in a power hangover? Where is it?" he repeated.

"In a dumpster somewhere in Harlem," she muttered, eyes lowered. She felt remarkably like a child being scolded. She didn't like it at all.

His eyes unfocused for a moment. Then he glared at her again. "No it isn't. Try again."

Not there? Then where?

"It's tethered to _you_ , pet. Find it. Now."

She...reached. She felt a thread. She followed it to its end and momentarily closed her eyes in dismay.

She muttered, very, very quietly, mortified, "In the basement."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting, and cupped a hand behind his ear. "What was that, pet? I didn't quite hear you."

"In the basement!" she shouted angrily. She knew very well that he had heard just fine the first time.

He smiled, teeth together. "Ah. Good girl." He snapped his fingers. She felt the whatever-it-was--tether?--snap. Wherever Frank's body was, it was no longer in her basement.

"Thank you," she mumbled angrily. She hated needing help. What was most galling was that all this pain was the result of such a tiny distance. She took another gulp of the nasty brew he had given her. At least it seemed to be working; the red and black flashes were gone, she no longer felt like throwing up, and the feeling of a drill going through her head had subsided to a dull throbbing. She took the earplugs out.

He hooked his thumbs in his pants pockets and regarded her narrowly.

"Better?"

She nodded.

He leaned forward and yanked some hair from her head. " _Ouch_! What the hell...?!?"

He smoothed his hand over his left wrist, leaving behind a thin hair bracelet. "Insurance, pet. Next time you need help and can't reach me, or can't find a phone. This will get through. I like to take care of my investments..."

She frowned. "Give me a warning, okay?" She was feeling much better. A question occurred to her: "Where's Davis? I thought _he_ was coming here?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "I was returning, he was leaving. He was concerned. He may be a fusty old demon--" Wait. Davis was a demon? "--but he is familiar with power hangovers. A bad one can kill. I took over."

"Mmm. Well. Thanks," she said grudgingly. She stood up. The sofa was clean. She peered into the kitchen. No blood, no vomit. She bit her lip. "Really, thanks." He smiled wryly and mimed snapping his fingers. "Ah. Well. If you'll excuse me, I need to clean up, settle down, take a shower..." 

She started toward her bedroom. He moved closer, and murmured, "I could always help..." 

She backed away. He followed. Suddenly she was backed up against the wall, and he was standing very, very close, leaning one hand on the wall next to her head. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, and drew his thumb slowly across her cheekbone, his eyelids drooping.

It fascinated her, how quickly he could make her heart race, her breathing become shallow and quick, her skin quiver, her mind go blank. He leaned even closer, eyes focused on her, and the world faded away. All that remained was him. She leaned her cheek in to his palm, and her lips parted.

He smiled crookedly, gave her cheek a sharp pat, leaned back, and said, "Practice, pet. Try smaller things before moving any more bodies. I'll email the hangover remedy recipe." He narrowed his eyes and added, very evenly, "Don't make me clean up any more of your messes." Then he vanished.

***  
Innie-Me resurfaced later. She emanated hurt feelings.

_~~you shouted at me...~~_

_Yeah._

_~~you called me a bitch!~~_

_Yeah. I'm a demon. I torture people, I kill people, I even, gasp, call people names. Deal._

Innie-Me pouted. Dani sighed.

_Look. I was scared. I've never felt anything like that before. I thought we were dying, and your grizzling wasn't helping._

_~~it hurt so bad...~~_

_Yeah._

_~~what was it??~~_

_Power hangover. I did too much too soon._

She gritted her teeth. The scathing dressing down Crowley had given her still smarted.

_~~oh. like trying to bench press 200 pounds when you've just begun working out...?~~_

Dani snorted.

_Yeah. Something like that, I guess. Now. Time to get to work._

_~~ugh~~_

Innie-Me sank down again. Research didn't interest her, unless it was related to fashion and styling and artwork. She did have a certain flair for power sigils, though.

Dani spent the afternoon clearing away business calls. Two of the hopeful clients she sent on their way with a curt, "Sorry. New client has me on retainer." One man, however, had left her four messages, each more urgent than the last. The remnants of the hangover made her tempted to blow him off, too, just to fuck with him. But. A small job, something to pique her curiosity...and he had a very good voice, deep and rough. Interested, she called him.

When she got off the phone, she stared into space for a while, thoughtfully picking at her bottom lip. Lucifer's special little gang certainly was getting around these days. This Roberts guy, Hunter though he might be, was in way over his head. And he had lied to her: however he had come across the medallion, the messages he had left had nothing to do with returning lost possessions, far too urgent for that.

She shrugged and dismissed him. Whatever. No need to get tangled up in a dead guy's business, though it might be amusing to watch him get ground up and spit out by demons.

She called Jose, contracted with him to find a good hacker and to locate Toby, the former assistant archivist for Hell's occult archives.

Then she started organizing. 

***  
She spent the next few days collating binding and unbinding spells, looking for similarities and differences. The piles of research grew on her coffee table, spilling onto the floor, and her notepad filled with notes. She would pad absently into her kitchen, carrying an issue of JPO or a printout from one of the occult databases, pour a cup of coffee or open a can of ginger ale, take a sip or two, and then, just as absently, leave the cup or can on the island, or the counter, or, if she were particularly focused, on the coffee table. Once in a while she would come to enough to whip together her ramen-plus, shovel it down, and drop the dishes into the sink.

And every damned time she located one of the more powerful spells, there was a reference to a stronger one in either Hell's archive or, worse, the Men of Letters bunker. She might have a lead on the first, but the second was lost to the world. It made her librarian heart break, to know that all that lovely arcane knowledge had been blown to tiny bits when Lucifer rose.

Her phone filled up with texts from Crowley. Aside from a short, "Researching. Busy.", she ignored them.

Her doorbell rang at the end of the afternoon of day three. When she answered it, it was Davis. "Miss Dani? Mr. Redmond sent me over."

She rang him in, annoyed.

When she opened the door, he stepped in with a bag of something that smelled very good. Dani's stomach growled, and she realized she was ravenously hungry. She watched, bemused, as he quickly unpacked the food, set a place for her at the table, and motioned her to sit down. "Mr. Redmond thought you might need to eat."

"Huh." She sat down and dropped her notepad and pen next to the place setting. Davis quickly removed them, placing them back on the coffee table. She frowned. Then he collected dirty cups and napkins from the coffee table and went into the kitchen. She heard a "Tsk!" from him, and the sound of water running, dishes being cleaned. She blinked, and slowly started eating. Davis returned and poured her a glass of very good Chardonnay. She blinked again. When she was finished with the dinner--beef bourguignon--he whisked the dirty plate away and set a serving of flan before her. 

She gave in and ate the flan with the attention it deserved.

When she was all done and had risen from the table to return to her work, Davis stopped her. "You are all recovered, Miss Dani? I was concerned."

She nodded. He frowned at her in his bland, average way. "Please. Practice, but don't do anything too strenuous. Power hangovers are nothing to laugh about."

She smiled, actually touched. "I won't, Davis. I'm practicing with small things." And she was--when she thought about it. For instance, about half the dishes in the kitchen sink had gotten there via her power, when the mess on the coffee table got too much even for her.

He nodded gravely. "Very well. I will see you tomorrow."

"Wait. Tomorrow--?"

But he was out the door before she was finished. She blinked again, then shrugged and got back to work.

Jose called her later that evening with a hacker's name and phone number, and the location of Hell's assistant archivist.

***  
_~~that was a bust~~_

_Yeah. He's lying, though. He knows where it is._

Dani stood on the sidewalk in front of the dump that Toby, Hell's assistant archivist, had hunkered down in after escaping the May purge. His cramped, squalid apartment was full of little demon traps, hex bags, and sigils for warding off demons, carefully hidden. The hex bags and sigils had made Dani sick; she wondered how he could stand living with them.

The demon traps she could spot, and she assumed he had memorized where he placed them.

He was a quivering, fearful shadow of his former self. She had seen him from a distance in Hell sometimes, sweeping along in the grandeur of his station, well above noticing a low mid-level demon such as herself; things were different now. He smelled, too, and not of a nice, pleasant sulfur, but of unwashed human body. She had caught a glimpse of his tiny, closet like kitchen, shuddered, and made sure not to look again.

He denied even knowing what she was talking about, called her crazy, threatened, in a whining, timorous tone, to call the police. She had left.

She needed Jessie. Jessie could hoodoo him out, to a place of her choosing. _She_ certainly wasn't going to risk another of those hellish hangovers. Maybe she could do that sort of thing herself in a few months, but not now.

Innie-Me radiated feverish agreement.

She started down the sidewalk, pulling her phone out.

***  
Jessie had been her typical prissy pain in the ass to deal with, wildly curious and wanting to join in the fun, and had finally delivered Toby to her lab. Threatening her with possible attention from Lucifer had scared her off after that. No sane low-level demon wanted to catch his attention.

The lab was situated in an abandoned industrial park in Queens; Dani chose it because, for some reason, the last tenants had soundproofed it. Testing spells could sometimes be noisy. Torturing almost always was.

Dani entered the lab with a skip in her step. She could feel it, the archives were close, and then she'd find that damned "stronger" binding spell, and be that much closer to solving her puzzle. She stepped up to her table, and arranged her implements, humming, then turned around to face him.

Toby was bound to the chair, a gag in his mouth. His face changed as he recognized her, then changed even further when she flashed her beetle-blacks at him. He mumbled something loudly behind the gag; it sounded angry and frightened.

She smiled at him.

"Hi, Toby. Time for a little chat."

She removed the gag.

"Who--who the hell are you, and what do you want?" he gasped. "You're not...not working for... _him_ , are you?"

"Lucifer? Oh, no. Wouldn't dream of it."

He sagged in relief.

"All I want from you is the current location of Hell's arcane archive. Not a big deal. I have no idea why you even care about it anymore."

He drew himself up, as much as he could against the bindings, and gave her a haughty look. "I assume you have no concept of professional responsibility."

She rolled her eyes, turned around, pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, poured kosher salt on an angel blade, and rubbed it down. Then she turned to him, smiled sweetly, and said, "Toby. Let's try that again..."

***  
Toby was a stubborn SOB, she gave him that. Silver and salt, holy water in a syringe, even her latest idea, where she had carved the Enochian sigil for pain into his skin and activated it with her power...well. He was just being a pain in the ass. And screaming. Very loudly.

There was a soft poof of displaced air behind her.

"Ahem."

A warm, well-manicured hand settled on her shoulder. Toby's eyes widened, showing the whites, like a horse confronted with a snake. His screams morphed into a stifled whimper. 

"Toby! Darling! I've missed you!" Crowley's voice was jovial. Toby closed his eyes and shivered. Dani shivered, too, but in an entirely different way and for an entirely different reason. That voice just did things to her, and he was standing so close behind her she could smell him and sense him through her skin, and, dammit, being distracted like this so immediately was irritating.

"My Dani-girl was supposed to let me know when she found you, but I see she forgot and started the fun without me." The hand on her shoulder bit down hard as he said it.

Oops.

He stepped forward, his hand leaving her shoulder and trailing lightly down her back, leaving a line of heightened nerves. She took a quick side step to place a buffer zone between them.

He leaned down to peer at the Enochian sigil, which had faded. Toby flinched away, his skin twitching. "Oh, now, this is amusing. I assume you activate it with power?"

Dani stepped forward, but made sure she was still at least two feet from him. "It goes like this," she said, raising her hand, focusing. She drew a breath, and began, "Dol--"

"Stop." Crowley turned to face her, frowning. "Don't speak. Do it without words."

Dani folded her lips, frustrated. He just looked at her, one eyebrow elevated.

She raised her hand again. Focused. Pulled on the power and the will.

Nothing happened.

"Again."

She tried again. Again, nothing happened. He smiled tightly. "Words are a crutch. If you absolutely must, say the word in your mind."

This time, she formed the word "dolor" in her thoughts as she pulled on her power. This time, the sigil flared deep glowing red. This time, Toby screamed.

Crowley did not react to the scream, merely gazed thoughtfully at her. He ran a hand across the back of his head, breathed out a small snort, and said, "Using words limits you. 'Dolor' means pain, grief, suffering. 'Morsus' means bite, sting, pain. Which should you use? If you don't use the word, you can use the meaning of two words at once. Or more. Or just concepts. Also, you don't need to remember those damned obscure Latin words. I despise Latin. Can never remember the declensions." The mark had faded and Toby was just whimpering now. "Again."

Dani gritted her teeth. "Why?" she asked, stubbornly.

Crowley looked down at his arm, brushed non-existent dust off his sleeve, and flicked a sideways glance at her. "If you really want to be my--what was it?--ah, yes: 'intelligence meister and head research honcho', you need to learn to use power. Properly. Not the stunted version you get from basic demon mnemonics." He looked at the ceiling and recited in a sarcastic sing-song, "PWW, power, will, word--POW! Bah. Moronic gits." He looked at her again, waved a hand to continue. "Now. Again."

He had a point. She focused again--gathering power and will was getting easier, every time she did it. She raised her hand. She focused on the concept, rather than the word. The sigil flared again, Toby screamed again.

Crowley smiled broadly. "There you go, pet!" Then he tousled Toby's hair, turned his face up with a punishing hand under his chin, leaned down, and kissed him, hard, on the lips. He stared into Toby's eyes and murmured, "Sweetheart, you broke your word to me, but that's all behind us now. I have just one question now: WHERE'S MY BLOODY ARCHIVE?!?" The words ended in a bellow. He punctuated the words with an angel blade stabbed through Toby's arm, pinning it down to the arm of the chair he was tied to.

Toby screamed, then started babbling, words spilling out.

After a few minutes, and scribbling down the information, Dani frowned. "I torture him for hours, and get nothing. You _kiss_ him, yell at him, stab him, and boom! Information! It's irritating."

Crowley smirked. "Reputation, pet. After you've been around for a few hundred years, you might have the same effect. Might." He was absently stroking Toby's dirty hair as he talked.

Toby glared at her. "You're just some skanky whore demon I've never seen before. Why should I be afraid of you?" he sneered. Crowley glanced down at him, pulled the blade from his arm, and casually stabbed it hilt deep in his chest. Red and yellow light flared in Toby's eyes and spidered around his skull, sputtering. "Sexist pig," Crowley said lightly. The room was suddenly, blissfully quiet. He pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket, carefully blotted drops of blood from his suit and face, and turned to Dani with a smile. "Shall we have a little chat, Dani-girl?"

He sauntered toward her. 

"What about?" She backed up, trying to keep an arm's-length distance between them. He followed her. She hit the table, and started backing around it. He kept coming, around the table. If it hadn't been so irritating, she would have laughed: it was like a forties movie cliche.

"I'm losing patience, pet."

She stopped, stung. "I'm working on it! I'll let you know when I have something solid. It'll happen much quicker if you stop pestering me!" 

He had kept moving forward when she stopped, and was now well within her personal space. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against his body. She couldn't help it: she sagged against him, desire coiling and building. Dammit. He leaned his head down and murmured into her ear, "I'm not talking about the research, Dani-girl." His breath tickled her ear. He slid a finger delicately along the edge of her T-shirt's collar, and her skin quivered and burned in its wake. He then slid the hand down to cup a breast, ran a finger across her nipple. 

She drew a shuddering breath, then yanked herself away, stepping quickly to place the table between them. She shook a finger at him. "You--! You--". She paused a second to collect her breath and wits. "You have absolutely _no idea_ how you affect me!" One of his eyebrows flicked up sardonically.

"You think...?" he murmured.

Innie-Me resurfaced, snickering.

_~~oh, i think he has a very good idea.~~_

She kept on. "Look. Either you want me in bed with you or you want me researching. I can't _think_ around you, if you're within a few feet! I don't _like_ not being able to think! Go away!" She flapped her hands at him, like shooing away a fly. "Let me get the archives, finish up my basic research, just--just-- _leave me alone!_ " she wailed angrily.

He folded his arms. He looked at her thoughtfully, lips pursed, for a few moments, considering, then nodded. And vanished.

Dani leaned against the table, grabbed some paper, and began fanning herself.

_~~damn, girl. you're no fun...~~_

***  
Toby had managed to squirrel away a truckload from Hell's arcane archive in a storage facility a few blocks over from his apartment. Dani took buses over, sprang the lock with her power--really, it could be quite useful!--and drew her breath when she stepped in. Ahhhh! Lovely, lovely artifacts and boxes of documents! She geared up, eyed everything dubiously, then cautiously--very, very cautiously--began transporting one box at a time to her nest. She stopped when the headache started to reach almost-migraine strength. She could get Davis to transport the rest.

The train ride back to Manhattan gave her plenty of time to re-center herself, and for the headache to subside. When she got home, she dove into the first of the boxes, delightedly cataloging the arcane documents within.

She barely acknowledged Davis when he showed up with dinner.

By the next afternoon, she had found not one, not two, but _three_ incredibly strong binding spells. And she hadn't even gone through six of the boxes! There was now a heap of twenty more piled up in her guest bedroom, courtesy of Davis, and, surely, _the_ spell would be there... Exhilarated, she decided to take a break.

She hopped on the web, visited a site, did some work, printed out the result, and headed out the door.

***  
"Miss Dani!" Davis dithered as he opened the door to her. "Mr. Redmond is..um...entertaining...um...overnight guests--I was just about to bring your dinner--" He stepped back, tried to position himself so she couldn't turn to the bedroom suite.

"Overnight guests"? Plural? Her eyes turned steady shiny black, and she strode past him, emanating a demon growl and easily avoiding his attempt to stop her. She slammed the doors to the bedroom suite open with her power as she walked. It was astonishingly easy when she was fueled with jealous rage.

She stalked into the bedroom.

There were three of them in bed with him, all simply gorgeous. One girl, two boys--they couldn't have been more than eighteen. One of the boys squeaked and fell off the bed, crouching down and peering over the edge at her with big, startled, pansy-purple eyes.

"Dani. Come join us!" Crowley smiled--with genuine pleasure, part of her mind registered with surprise--and patted the bed beside him. She bared her teeth.

"You, you, you." She pointed at each of them in turn. "Clothes." She pointed at the pile of clothing on the floor. "Out." She jerked her thumb at the door. " _Now._ "

Squeaky and the girl scuttled to grab clothes and exit the bedroom as swiftly as possible. The remaining boy, black-haired, tanned, nude, and haughty, leaned on Crowley, staring at her.

"Or what?" he sneered.

Her eyes had returned to human, but now flashed black at him. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, but was not impressed.

"You're just some strange woman I've never met, and not a very sexy or scary one, at that, and weird black contacts won't scare me," he continued.

Crowley guffawed, delighted. "Oh, pretty boy, you have no idea what you've just done."

Her demon growl sounded, louder and louder. Her obsidian eyes seemed to grow larger. Her attention was now fully focused on the boy as she stalked slowly toward the bed, fingers flexing. If he had been a demon, he would have seen her tail twitching from side to side. She considered possibilities: Possess him? Fling him across the room to slam into the wall? Maybe just break a few bones...

The boy eyed her sideways, reconsidering his dismissal of her. Crowley grabbed him, kissed him long and deep, ran a hand down his back and slapped his ass, saying, "Off you go. She's in a mood to eat you alive." Slowly, reluctantly, the boy slid off the bed, picked up his clothes, and left.

Dani used her power to slam the doors closed after him. Then she settled herself in the armchair by the bed, kicked off her shoes, slouched down, and glowered at Crowley.

"What?"

She just growled, demon and human voices blending. He smirked at her.

"Surely you didn't expect anything else, pet."

Well, no, actually she didn't. With the rational part of her mind. The irrational part, however...She blew out a deep breath, letting the rage bleed out with it. She pulled out the printouts and tossed them on the bedside table.

"Tickets to Les Miz for Saturday. Interested?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Definitely."

She stood up, climbed on the bed, and straddled his naked body, pulling off her T-shirt. She gripped his short hair to hold his head down, and kissed him. "I think it's my turn to make _you_ beg."


	11. Dance With The Devil (Breaking Benjamin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas face Lucifer, and, in his head, Sam tries to wrestle control of his body away from Lucifer.
> 
> * * *

Lucifer-as-Sam stepped into the room. Three demons followed him, moving to either side of the door. There were more in the room beyond; Dean's eyes flicked quickly about, trying to count them. He stopped when it became clear that there were many more than he and Cas could take on. It was one thing to attack them a few at a time, as when they had come into the building. It was totally different when the same number had them cornered in a room with just one way out. He hugged Charlie's body closer.

"Dean." His brother's voice was gently amused. A chiding eyebrow was raised. "You know it doesn't work like that. Sam said yes. Sam's the one who needs to throw me out. His body, his choice. You can't do a thing. Right now, he's happily chasing down a monster that eats brains and mummifies bodies, with his brother Dean. He doesn't remember a thing about that night, just knows that the Mark is gone and he and Dean are back to being plain Hunters again."

The gentle amusement faded. He focused on Cas. Cas released Dean's shoulder and stepped forward to position himself between the two. There was a quiet metallic snick as he flicked his angel blade down from its sheath into his hand. Lucifer paced softly to their right, and Cas moved to match. Lucifer's smile widened.

"Castiel. You continue to perplex me. Throwing in with the hairless apes." He shuddered delicately. "Or one hairless ape in particular..." His eyes darted to Dean, then returned to Cas. He continued slowly circling around the three of them. Cas continued to circle with him, always careful to stand between Lucifer and Dean. His eyes slid to the demons at the doorway on a regular basis, checking to make sure they weren't sneaking up on him, but they didn't move from their positions, merely kept alert.

"These are my friends," Cas said quietly. "Something I don't think you really understand."

Lucifer's eyes flared electric blue for a second. His mouth twisted in an ugly way. "Just what is it about you that makes our Father so...so infatuated with you?"

Cas shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you should ask Him." Lucifer's eyes flashed blue again.

_Why is he provoking him?_

"Cas!" Dean hissed. "Get us out of here!"

Cas kept watchful eyes on Lucifer. "I can't. He's holding me down." He didn't bother to keep his voice down.

Lucifer waved a deprecating hand. "Easy peasy, brother. You're weak. I'm strong. But...back to the subject. Father has brought you back how many times now? I thought for sure this last time you wouldn't recover." There was a nasty hint of jealousy oozing through the words.

Cas shrugged again. "Three? Four? I'm not sure."

Lucifer stepped forward, teeth gritted and bared, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Cas retreated. Lucifer's hand shot out, closed hard over Cas's wrist, and twisted. Cas gasped, flinching, and the angel blade clattered to the floor. Lucifer pulled him towards him by his wrist until they were standing face to face. He leaned Sam's head down threateningly, and hissed, "I would _so_ like to snap my fingers and smash you into atoms. Again. But I suspect He would only...bring...you..back...again." He punctuated each of the last words with a savage twist to Cas's wrist, until Cas sank down to his knees in pain, clutching his arm. "I really have no idea what he sees in you." He threw Cas's arm back contemptuously, and turned his attention to Dean, beginning to circle again.

"And, you. Dean. I should have known you'd be connected to the people trying to shut down my pretty Croatoan research."

Dean kept turning to face him, but said nothing. Cas staggered up and stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean, and they turned in tandem.

"Y'know," Lucifer said lightly, "I hadn't bothered to hunt you down before because of Sam. But that was then, and this is now. I think I've changed my mind." He turned his head to the backup demons. "Take them." The three demons by the door stepped forward, and a few others crowded into the room.

_Oh, shit. Done monologuing._

He was hampered by holding Charlie, Cas's blade was on the floor, out of their reach, his demon knife was still jammed in the body in the other room. This was bad.

Lucifer's eyes suddenly went out of focus. Dean tried to keep one eye on him while watching the demons moving cautiously in. What was happening?

Then Lucifer's face changed. He had no idea how he knew it, but the shift in expression, the eyes looking at him--it wasn't Lucifer anymore. It was Sam. Somehow, some way...

" _DEAN_!!!" came the hoarse shout.

He took an involuntary step forward.

Cas's hand dropped on his shoulder, clasped tight, and the room vanished.

***  
Sam stared at other-Sam in shock. He couldn't move, couldn't think for a few moments, the change was so abrupt, so...Frightening. Surreal. But these past few hours had definitely been surreal. Maybe this was just a new hallucination twist.

Other-Sam sighed. "Sam, Sam, Sam. You know me. You've said 'yes' to me twice now."

Sam's breath caught. "Said 'yes'" had a very specific meaning in his and Dean's lives. Angel vessels had to agree to be occupied. He had said 'yes' twice before, that was true, but once had been a trick, and he had never said yes to any angel more than once.

...had he?

Other Sam sighed again. "Well. You've broken through this far. Might as well finish it." He snapped his fingers.

Sam groaned and dropped his head into his hands, twining his long fingers in his hair against the agony, as a wild rush of memories came crashing down. 

The Book of the Damned. Him and Cas sneaking behind Dean's back to get Rowena, and then Charlie, to translate it. The spell. The realization that the cost to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean's arm, his life, meant bargaining with the devil. Literally. The deep-down knowledge that there could be only one outcome. The heated arguments with Cas and Charlie. His desperate need to save his brother from the monster he was becoming. Their very reluctant agreement, finally, to his plan. Him and Cas kidnapping Charlie late at night, leaving her--very angry--in a safe place. Enlisting Crowley to help Cas guard him while he cast the spell. The sound of fighting in the hallway. The sick feeling in his gut when Lucifer realized just how far he would go and laughed triumphantly. Dean breaking down the door just as he said "Yes".

All of that, mixed with the memories of the past few months. None of which were real.

He'd been through this kind of re-integration of memory before. It was just as painful this time. The one saving grace was that these memories, though difficult to process, were nothing like the last time, when he had to remember centuries of torture in Hell. He bent over, gasping with the pain, one breath away from hurling all over the car.

But there was one thing he could do. Other-Sam was watching his struggles with mild interest. He was off guard. All he had to do was thrust Lucifer out. It would be hard, oh so hard. But...

Before the thought was even fully formed, he surged forward from his bent-over position, launching himself across the seat to grab other-Sam by the throat, shake him, force him to relinquish control.

Other-Sam was caught by surprise; his hands scrabbled at the hands on his neck. Sam's face contorted with anger, his teeth showing, and he shouted hoarsely, "Give me back my damned body, you son of a bitch!"

Then, in one instant, everything around him twisted, faded, and he was...somewhere else, a dingy, dimly lit room. He was looking at Dean and Cas. Dean was holding Charlie in his arms. Cas was pale, his face reflecting physical pain. Dean looked...older. Worn. Sam shouted with all his might:

" _DEAN_!!!"

And, just as quickly, he was in the common room of the bunker, tied down in one of the old-fashioned oak chairs. Other-Sam--Lucifer--was sitting half-on, half-off the other side of the table, twirling a rose in his hand. Sam tested the rope surreptitiously, but it was fastened tight, around his wrists, around his upper arms, around his ankles. Trussed like a turkey, dammit.

"You're back." Lucifer tucked the rose back in his lapel and stood up, walking around the table. "That was very quick thinking. I approve. Y'know...I like you, Sam. I even like Dean, even though he and his cohorts have been fucking around with my Croatoan research. Oh, those scattered researcher deaths you were 'investigating'? Those were real. I thought I might try to get some use out of you." He sat on the edge of the table next to Sam, folded his arms, and looked at him. "But somehow you managed to surface from my dream. Which means I need to do something with you, so you don't distract me at an inopportune moment. Again." His face twisted with anger, then smoothed out. "So. I think I'll take a two-pronged approach this time." He leaned forward, patted Sam on the shoulder. "You just stay right here, Sammy. I'll be back." And with that very credible imitation of Schwarzenegger, he disappeared.

Sam lost no time in trying to get loose. He wiggled, he squirmed, he tried flexing his arms to stretch the rope, he blindly searched for a nail, a large splinter, anything he could reach on the chair with his fingers that might have a chance of shredding the rope. No matter what he tried, though, there was no result. The ropes stayed as tight as ever. Panting, he threw his head back and grunted in frustration, then sat still for a while.

Without warning, the ropes simply fell off.

Sam didn't stop to think. He surged out of the chair and began searching for something, anything that would work as a weapon. He had no idea why the ropes had dropped, but he was willing to bet that Lucifer would be back any moment now. He grabbed one of the multitude of swords decorating the wall, yanked it down.

Suddenly, a golden, glowing rope or chain wrapped around his wrists, linking them together. Sam stared down at his hands, nonplussed. When he tried to pull it off one of his wrists, he couldn't even touch it; it was like there was nothing there. He spread his arms out, and the golden rope stretched to accommodate. He clasped his hands together, and it contracted. But it didn't hinder him in any way; experimenting showed that he could put his hands on either side of a solid object, such as the edge of the table--all that happened was the golden binding faded away where the object was, then faded back into visibility when he moved his hands out.

Lucifer reappeared, comfortably seated in one of the chairs, his legs crossed and settled on the table.

Sam held his wrists up, and grated out, "What the fuck is this?"

Lucifer smiled happily. "Isn't it pretty? It's a very old, very powerful, very obscure binding spell. To control you. So if I were to say, oh, 'Hop like a frog, Sammy', guess what you'd do?"

Sam didn't have to guess: as soon as the sentence was complete, he was leap-frogging around the common room. He dropped the sword in a hurry, fearing he would hurt himself otherwise. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop. It was infuriating. Embarrassing. Unnerving.

"Stop hopping, Sam." Sam stopped. "I won't use it to make you do petty tricks like that," Lucifer added. "So immature. So beneath your dignity and mine. No. What this is for is to keep you from attacking me again. Insurance. It frees my attention for more...important things. Go ahead," he offered. "Try it. Come at me, Sammy." He gestured invitingly.

Sam lunged at him. This time, he couldn't get within arm's reach. He tried from various angles to no avail; every time, as soon as he got close enough, his feet faltered and he came to a stop. He paused to think for a minute, eyeing Lucifer narrowly, panting. Then, with a swift move, he grabbed the sword from the floor, where he had dropped it while hopping, and ran directly at Lucifer, sword extended. This time, his rush ended when the tip of the sword itself was an arm's length from his target. He let his arm sink until the sword's point rested on the floor.

"So that's part one of my two-prong plan." Lucifer hadn't even twitched while Sam was trying the limits of the spell. "Part two..." He swung his legs off the table, planted them firmly on the floor, and leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. He stared at Sam, a sympathetic and sincere look on his face. "Y'see, I know you, Sam." He tapped the side of his head. "I'm here, inside you. I have all your memories, all your feelings. You're very determined. If anyone can find a way to squirm out of that spell or get around it, it's you. You and your brother are much more competent than most people think. So." He sighed. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sam said angrily. "I get it. We're wonder twins. And you really like the sound of your own--my--voice. But I _will_ find a way. Believe it."

Lucifer pursed his lips, shook his head at him admonishingly. "Sam. See, that's what I'm talking about. You've...matured. Changed. You're not as driven by anger, vengeance, any more. You'll just buckle down and find a solution. So I have to distract you. I'm very sorry, but I know a way. See, deep down inside you..." He paused, sighed, went on. "You really, really liked it. The power. The knowledge. The strength. And even now, you find yourself wondering, when you use spells, find some intricate new magical item, what it would be like to explore those things. The darkness lures you."

Sam shook his head in angry denial. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, roughly.

Lucifer gave him a tiny, sad smile. "Don't kid a kidder, Sam. You know. I told you, I'm here, inside your gourd. So. Go find yourself some demons, Sammy."

He disappeared again. This time, Sam could tell, though he didn't know how, that he wouldn't be back.

He dropped the sword. It clattered as it fell. He sank down into one of the oak armchairs, set his elbows on the table, and dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders slumping. What the hell was he going to do? How could he regain control of his body, kick Lucifer out, when he had this shiny magical chain restraining him?

And just what the fuck was Lucifer going on about at the end? The power, the knowledge, the darkness...? His "second prong"...?

The skin on his arm twitched. It felt like ants were crawling underneath it. He scratched it absently, then froze.

He could suddenly feel a hunger, a need. Old memories were rising up, of abilities he had buried, of a wild, overwhelming feeling of power, of seeing the world in a totally different way. Of being able to crush his enemies with his mind. Domination. Knowledge. Power. And underlying it all, a dark, burning need that would drive him to do just about anything to fulfill it.

Oh, he remembered this feeling.

"No!" He groaned, and slammed his fists down on the table.

The itch was getting stronger, more difficult to ignore.

" _No_!"

All he could think about was finding a way to satisfy the emptiness.

He threw his head back and howled, " _NOOOOOOO_!!!"


	12. Space Oddity (David Bowie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's idea of a "safe place" to hide for a bit is...a bit odd.
> 
> * * *

"You can put Charlie down now," Cas said.

They were...where they hell were they? It was dark, a kind of absolute darkness that Dean had never seen before. It...shined. There were random lavender sparks flaring, and if he stared at one spot long enough, he could make out a dim purple tracery of webwork arcing across the...sky? There was an area where the surrounding darkness was blotted out by the outline of something that looked like wings. They curved around, a huge dark shadow against the darkness. He turned around, and saw that the wing shadow completely enclosed the three of them in a space about the size of someone's living room.

The shadow enclosed him and Charlie, but emanated from Cas, as did a dim blue glow that lit their immediate surroundings.

He carefully bent down and placed Charlie on the...ground?

"What...?" He stopped, then tried again. "Cas. Where _are_ we? What is this place?"

Cas crouched down over Charlie, laying a gentle hand on her forehead. Dean absently noticed that the shadowy wings moved with him. "We are someplace safe. Charlie has no protections, she will act as a beacon to Lucifer. I had to...remove us while I heal her and remedy the lack of protection."

Dean gaped at him. "Remove us? Dude, what the fuck? 'Someplace _safe_ '? Where are we? Don't dodge the question."

Cas leaned back, still crouching, and rested his arms on his knees, looking up at him. "We are...in another dimension. Not on your Earth, not in your universe. It's temporary. I can only do this for so long. But Lucifer cannot find us here; there are far too many other dimensions for him to track us down quickly. And while I have her sheltered, Charlie does not...shine out." He made a small noise of frustration. "Dean, I can't explain this stuff very well to you. This other dimension, Charlie's 'shining', how I am sheltering us--these are aspects of angelic powers that would be difficult to explain to a Ph.D. in physics. I am trying to explain in a very limited way."

"Dumbing it down for the high school dropout, eh? Awesome," Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably. He had gotten so used to everyday, somewhat awkward Cas, who was handy with demon smiting and glowing blue bolts of power. His friend. This, though. This was a Cas that was different, otherworldly. Frightening. Like he had been when Dean first met him.

Cas smiled up at him reassuringly, understanding. "It's still me, Dean. Still Cas."

"Yeah. Right." Dean ran his hand over his lips and chin.

"It's new for me, too, y'know," Cas mused. "I couldn't do this before--shifting others here like this. Oh, I could always come here if I wanted, but it was...lonely. Beautiful! But lonely." He voice was wistful. He paused, perhaps remembering previous visits. "Anyway, bringing people with me seems to be one of my new abilities. I just did it by instinct. We had to hide while I heal Charlie and ward her like I did you and Sam."

Sam!

"Cas--that was _Sam_ there, at the end! Why'd you yank us out right then?! We could have--could have--". He waved his arms wildly, trying to express his need to help Sam, save Sam, do _something_.

Cas gave him a grim look. "Done nothing. He distracted Lucifer, just enough. I had to act while I had the chance. We had to get away. Sam wouldn't have held out for more than a moment or two."

Dean dropped his arms to his side with a sigh. Cas was right.

"Yeah. Okay."

"So. This will take a few hours. I will heal Charlie, then ward her, then we can return to one of your safe houses. I must warn you, though, that time moves differently here, so I have no idea how long we will actually be gone. It could end up being minutes, or it could end up being months."

Dean blinked. Months away would be a Bad Thing.

"So what do I do while you're doing your thing?" He looked around the small protected space within Cas's wings, wishing food would appear, or a beer, or a sofa with a TV so he could watch Dr. Sexy M.D. Or all of the above. He wouldn't mind a bacon cheeseburger right now. Which was a bad thing to think of, because now he was really hungry, and his stomach was growling.

Cas waved his hand. "Think. Look. Daydream. Whatever. Just please don't interrupt." With that, he leaned back over Charlie's unresponsive body and placed his hand back on her forehead.

"Awesome. Sounds like fun," Dean said sarcastically. Cas ignored him. He sighed and started pacing around the protected space. After an unknown length of time, he gave up and sat down, leaning against Cas's wing. He stared up at the shining blackness, sighing again.

_If anyone had told me I'd be bored and hungry on a trip to another dimension, I'd have laughed my damn ass off._

He couldn't tell when it happened, but he seemed to fall into a trance tracing the faint purple webwork and counting the lavender sparks. It was soothing, quiet, peaceful, and for once he had nothing to do, nowhere to be, no monsters to be hunting and killing. For the first time in days, he didn't have to fear for Charlie. He could understand now why Cas called this place beautiful, though at first it had seemed featureless. To his left, for instance, the webbing knotted together and formed a velvety waterfall. The sparks actually were sliding down the webbing there, flickering, illuminating it dimly. Above him, the web spiraled around itself hypnotically. He tried to trace it inward, and started up with a gasp; for a second, he had felt like he was falling down an endless whirlpool. He reached out blindly to hold something to steady himself and recover from the vertigo.

Cas's wing.

He'd always wondered what his wings would look like, feel like; they had only ever seen shadows of them, when Cas juiced up his power. They seemed to be solid, here. He hadn't really thought about it when leaning against the wing nearest him; it had been like a wall, just something to support him. But, there they were, real, solid, huge. He couldn't help investigating.

He stroked a feather, leaning down to look at it. The feathers weren't black, weren't white, weren't any color he could name. The dim blue glow radiating from Cas's body raised an iridescent sheen on them. The feather he was stroking wasn't soft and fluffy, like all the cliches of angel wings; it was sleek and felt, actually, more like somewhat stiff pinwale corduroy, with ridges and valleys just barely apparent to the touch. He started to lift it up a bit, and the entire wing beside him twitched. Dean jumped.

"Dean. That tickles. Please stop. It's distracting."

"Oh! Um...sorry?" He dropped his hand, stepping back from the wing. He was blushing; it had been idle curiosity, but suddenly he realized he had been...stroking Cas himself. The realization brought a multitude of thoughts and images cascading into his brain, and he blushed even further, stammering, "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to, I was just...I...uh..." He waved one hand at the wing as if to explain, opened his mouth, closed it, turned to glance at Cas, closed his eyes in embarrassment and sat down again, well away from the wing.

"Sorry..." he mumbled again, feeling like a bumbling idiot. Cas was an _angel_ , dammit. He had no right to even think the things he sometimes thought about him. Time to stuff it all down. Like he always did. He huffed out a breath and cradled his head in his hands, wishing the earth--or this other dimension--would just swallow him up.

Some time later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean. I'm done and about to wake Charlie up."

He looked up. Cas was looking down at him with a small smile, holding his hand out to help him up. He levered himself up, ignoring the offer, and Cas dropped his hand by his side, smile dimming a little. He gestured over to where Charlie was lying, another shadow in the faint light. Dean walked over, Cas just behind him, and knelt by her side. Cas leaned over, and brushed her forehead lightly.

"Charlie. Wake up."

She stirred, mumbled, and then sat bolt upright, saying brightly, "Merry Christmas!" Then she blinked, shook her head, and seemed to finally really come to. Her eyes focused on Dean, then Cas. She drew in a breath. "Dean? Cas?" She looked around, her eyes widening. "Where _are_ we?!?"

Dean smiled widely, pulling her into his arms for a huge bear hug. He leaned his chin on her head. "Welcome back, kiddo. We're somewhere in outer space--"

Cas frowned and corrected him. "We are in another dimension, not outer space. Two very different things."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. It's seriously weird, either way."

Charlie lifted her head to look up, and whacked it into Dean's chin.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!" she said absently. "Oh. My. God. Just wait 'til I tell the guys at ComiCon about this next year! Seriously?! Another _dimension_?! This is just so cool! How can we breathe? Why are we here? How'd you find me? Oh! There's huge purple spiderwebs all over--this is like an acid trip--!" She stopped talking and just stared up, her mouth hanging open.

"Better stop looking up," Dean advised, just before she jerked with a gasp, dropped her head, and clutched him hard.

"Whoa, dizzy. There's a bottomless pit up there, y'know? It's like the Depths of Moria or something. Whoa. Just...whoa."

Dean laughed and ruffled her hair.

"How are you feeling, Charlie? What do you remember?" Cas asked.

She looked at him, and her delighted, dazed smile faded. Her focused her eyes very far away. "These guys broke into the cabin, rushed at me...I got one in the arm, yay, me! But then...they broke my phone! Bastards. And kicked my tablets all over! And put a bag over my head! I think I got sick in the car, I can't quite remember. And then there was this icky, smelly, dingy room--honestly, can't villains paint or something, they always use the grungiest places to hold captives--no imagination or style. And then...then..." She stopped talking, her face crumpling, on the verge of tears. "I know it wasn't Sam. But, oh, having Sam's body say those things, do those things, _be_ that way..." She shivered, hunching down. 

Dean pulled her against his body in a sideways hug. "Yeah, kiddo. Yeah, I know. We know." He looked up at Cas, caught his eyes. Cas pressed his lips together, nodded.

"It was so _horrid_ , Dean! So wrong...I kept expecting Sam to say, 'Just kidding!' And then...then I don't remember anything. And then I woke up here." She drew a deep breath. "So! What do we do now? And how did you guys find me?"

"The mooks left a clue in the cabin. The occult researcher you found us was able to point us to where you might be," Dean answered the second question first.

Cas followed up with an answer to the first: "Right now, we return to the cabin in Kentucky." He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and the extra-dimensional place morphed into the cabin where Cas had first reappeared. It was chilly, and smelled of stale liquor. Charlie flopped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief. Dean moved quickly to dump the whiskey bottles in the trash and take the trash out, then came back in shivering and started laying a fire in the fireplace.

"Damn! It's cold out there!" 

Cas looked around, his eyes distant. "We need to know how long we were gone. And we have to decide what to do now." He dropped his eyes to focus on Dean.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He flicked it on, glanced down, and said, "November third. That means...six days...? I don't remember the exact date when Charlie disappeared."

Charlie nodded. "That sounds about right...I was feeling sad about not being able to go to any Halloween parties this year just before you guys called."

Dean crouched down by the laid fire, and struck a match to light it. It was an amazing contrast to six days ago. Then, it had been dark and cold, and he was alone, on the run. Today, even though it was physically cold, he had friends--family--with him. It made all the difference. He watched the fire start to grow, and blinked back bittersweet tears. The only thing missing was Sam.

He leaned back on his heels, twisted around to look at Cas and Charlie. "So. What do we do about Sam? He's still in there. How do we get him back?"

Charlie gaped at him. "Sam's still alive?! He's in there?! How do you know?"

Cas replied, "Sam was able to break through for a moment. The distraction was how we actually escaped; if he hadn't done it...well. We were facing Lucifer and numerous demons in a room with only one way out."

"And Lucifer had a hate-on for Cas. Whoo, boy, did he! I think I was just an irritation in comparison," Dean joked. Cas pressed his lips together and shot Dean a repressive look. "What? Lucifer's got daddy issues. And you were poking at them. At him. You might have been killed." He glared angrily at Cas. "That was reckless."

Charlie muttered, "Says the pot."


	13. Love the Way You Lie (Eminem/Rhianna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Red Football (Sinead O'Connor)
> 
> I asked myself, "What is Crowley's reaction to being yanked around by Lucifer?" I knew, immediately: he loathes it. He despises not being in control--controlling others is at the very base of his character, always. Even when he was chained in the bunker dungeon, he was manipulating Dean, Sam, Cas. It's pathological, and one reason Rowena could get under his skin so well, because she knew him so well, knew where the control points were. So his response to not being in control is pathological, too.
> 
> Trigger warnings: rape, abuse, implied abuse, violence.
> 
> DO google "cycle of abuse". DO realize that even strong, self-confident people can be sucked into an abusive relationship.
> 
> You're more than welcome to yell at me for this. I was yelling at myself.
> 
> * * *

Les Miz was amazing. The dinner before was sophisticated and delicious; they spent the time talking about life in the sixteen hundreds, what the culture of the NSA was really like, the plethora of secret arcane data that governments around the world had amassed, politics in Hell's court. He coached her on small intricacies of power. She practiced transporting the salt and pepper shakers, delighting in whisking them out of his grasp as he was reaching for them.

After the show, they stopped at Apotheke for drinks and people watching. He entertained her by pointing out people and predicting their soul-selling downfalls. She laughed at most, but protested at one:

"No! That baby-faced little farm boy?! He doesn't belong here, and you can't make me believe he'd sell his soul!"

He slanted sparkling, amused eyes at her, and smirked. "Really? Dare me? Fresh-faced innocents always have something to hide, some twisted little secret they'll sell themselves to fulfill..."

She tossed her hair, a wide smile on her face. "I bet you can't do it."

A slow, sensual smile spread across his lips; he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "And what will you bet me, pet?"

She turned her face to his. They were close enough that doing it brushed her lips across his cheek. It sent a ripple of desire through her.

"Dealer's choice...?"

"Hold that thought."

He slipped off the bar stool and headed for the farm boy. She watched him sit down next to him, strike up a conversation. The parade of expression across the boy's face was fascinating; she could follow the steps of demonic seduction just by watching. Vague interest, wariness, distrust, a flare of wild hope...and then the two of them were getting up, leaving the main room of the bar. Crowley looked back at her and winked. A few minutes later, they returned, and Crowley parted from the boy with a hearty clap on the back, sauntered over to her with a self-satisfied smile.

"Done and done. Too easy." He patted his lips with the napkin beside his fruity tropical concoction. She shook her head, laughing breathlessly. He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her up. "Time to pay your bet, darling..."

And then the binding began to glow. He twitched, then frowned. He dropped his arm, releasing her, and snarled, "Dammit. I have to go." His lips twisted, then he drew in a breath, leaned in to kiss her lightly, and said, "I'll collect later." He grabbed his overcoat and walked out.

After that, he didn't show up or call or text for two days. Telling herself it was just a business interest in updating him as to how the research was going, she called his home number, hoping to get Davis. She drummed her fingers restlessly while listening to the phone ring.

"Redmond residence; this is Davis."

She blinked. Okay. How to find out what was going on without being stalkerish? She drew a breath. "Davis. Dani Lippmann."

"Miss Dani. How may I help you today?" His voice was blandly affectionate.

"Um. I was wondering if you had heard from Mr. Redmond?"

_Why do we use the fake name all the time when we both know who it really is?_

She could hear a slight frown in his voice. "I assumed he was with you."

"Oh. No. He got...called away." No need to go into detail.

She could hear Davis draw in his breath in a slight hiss. "I see. 'Called away'. If I may give you some advice, Miss Dani?"

"Sure. By all means." She stared sightlessly at the vivid Nieto "Wolf" print on her wall, picking at her lips.

"When he returns after being...'called away', he is...extremely dangerous. You must understand that he is not used to not being in control. Not for hundreds of years. He is always the one in control, or has...ceded control to further an agenda, and, thus, is still in control in a hidden way. These calls over the past six months have the unfortunate side effect of making him feel he must reassert his control."

Dani laughed. "Davis, you sound like a psychologist, not a butler."

"I learned very early on in my career that knowing the ins and outs of human motivation would help me," he said with mild amusement. She could see, in her mind's eye, a tiny twitch of a smile on his lips.

"I don't understand. So this is a bad thing? This need to reassert control?"

Davis was silent for a few moments. "Please just be very cautious the next time you see him." His voice was quiet, serious. "In the meantime, I will see you this evening when I bring dinner."

She rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

"Davis, you don't need to be feeding me every day, y'know. It's pleasant, but I _am_ a grown woman and can feed myself."

"It was an order, Miss Dani. I will not disobey. Especially not while he is...called away. Goodbye, Miss Dani."

He ended the call, and Dani slowly put the phone down, frowning at it thoughtfully. Davis sounded...well, nervous was the word that sprang to mind. Or cautious. Not his normal sanguine, dispassionate self. She folded her lips, thought for a while, then shrugged.

She was busy assembling some skeleton requirements for her test binding spells, scribbling ideas for spell flow on her whiteboard, when the soft rush of air alerted her that he had returned. She turned to greet him warily, remembering Davis's warning.

His face was cold and expressionless. The pupils of his eyes were red, obscured by hooded eyelids; it was the first time she had seen him flaring his trademark crossroads demon eyes. She could feel the power pulsing wildly from him, barely controlled. She was about to say something when he bared his teeth and shot out a hand to grasp her wrist in a painful grip. He yanked her forward and she stumbled at the unexpected move; as she staggered, his other hand shot out and ripped her shirt open. Buttons went flying across the hardwood floor with a tiny clattering noise.

"What--?!?"

_~~what is going on?!?~~_

This was not the fun seduction game she was used to, not in any way. She struggled to pull her wrist loose, but he was already using his larger body's physical advantage to move her, propel her across the room. She banged against the whiteboard and it fell to the floor. He slammed her against the wall, still with no expression, still with the flaring red eyes. She finally fully realized just how earnest Davis had been in his cautioning her, and began to fight, kicking and hitting.

"Stop! What in the hell--!" she yelled, her voice cracking.

He back-handed her across the face with his free hand. Her head hit the wall, hard. She gasped at the pain.

_~~this is bad. hit him with your hoodoo stuff...~~_

_Can't focus._

_~~focus, dammit!~~_

She closed her eyes against the menacing presence, drew a breath, focused as much as she could, and pushed mentally.

He back-handed her again while deflecting her power with humiliating ease. An ugly one-sided smile grew on his face. He released the wrist he had been holding, pinioned her with his own power, and snapped his fingers. Her clothes vanished entirely, to appear in a pile on the floor down the hall. He pressed up against her body, pushing her even harder against the wall, kneed her legs forcefully apart, unzipped his pants, and was slamming his cock into her within seconds.

It hurt. She was screaming angrily but uselessly; he had stolen her voice away from her, too, so no sound came out. He thrust harshly multiple times--she lost track, but it seemed endless. He finally came with a soundless shudder, head jerking backward. Then he stepped back, out of her, tucked his cock away, and zipped his pants again. As a last act, he snapped his fingers again, and she was released to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

He looked down at her expressionlessly, then disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

The entire episode had taken less than ten minutes.

***

_~~...~~_

_..._

_~~are...are we okay?~~_

Dani didn't answer, just pulled herself up the wall to a standing position, then limped down the hall to pick up her clothes. She stopped for a moment, resting against the wall, then staggered into the bathroom. She dropped the clothes and leaned on the vanity to look in the mirror. The right side of her face was red and inflamed, her eyes stunned and dull. The finger marks on her wrist were already bruising. Her side hurt because of the collision with the whiteboard.

She drew in a shuddering breath, turned, got into the shower, turned on the hot water, and curled up in a ball on the bottom of the shower stall, letting the water stream over her hurting body.

_~~...dani?...~~_

_Leave me alone._

_~~...~~_

She stayed there, unmoving, for an long time, pretending she wasn't weeping because she didn't _do_ weeping. Ever. She didn't get up until the water turned cold. Then she turned the water off, left the shower, slowly toweled herself dry, and went into the bedroom to crawl into her nest of cool, clean, soft sheets, pillows, blankets. She buried her head in a pillow, trying not to think.

So that was what Davis meant about reasserting control. She wondered what he had done to Davis to make him want to warn her.

She finally fell asleep.

***  
Her phone was ringing. She pried her eyes open, glanced at the clock, yawned, stretched--

_Oh._

Remembered.

The stretch was painful, pulling at the bruise on her side. She blinked, gritted her teeth, and stumbled into the bathroom, scrabbling at her clothes to dig out the phone. Without looking, she stabbed the answer button.

"Miss Dani?" It was Davis. His voice was urgent. "I wanted to warn you--"

She laughed softly, without humor. "Too late." Her voice was scratchy. She reached up to smooth her hands through her morning hair, and winced when doing that pulled at the finger marks on her wrist.

"Oh." There was a long silence. "Are you...are you well, Miss Dani?"

She answered bluntly. "No. I'll live."

He was silent again, then, finally, said, "I am so sorry, Miss Dani. I didn't think he would go there first."

She peered in the mirror. The skin along her right cheekbone and jawline was already turning dusky blue.

"You didn't know. You warned me. All is good, Davis. Know any good healing spells?" She laughed again, again humorlessly. She could see sunlight streaming into the bedroom from the doors leading into the garden, but it didn't warm her like it usually did. She felt cold, detached.

_~~...use the force, luke...~~_

_Ha ha._

"No need for spells; you should be able to use your power, Miss Dani." Davis's voice, normally smooth and calm, was quiet and miserable. "I also apologize for not bringing dinner."

She laughed yet again. Funny, that. "Don't worry; I didn't notice."

He sighed. "Again: I am so sorry, Miss Dani. I will see you this evening."

She leaned her forehead against the wall. "Yeah. Okay. Right. Bye." She tapped the "end call" button and stayed leaning on the wall for a few minutes.

_Looks like you were right to suggest the force._

_~~guess so. are you ready to talk?~~_

_No._

_~~it helps to talk, speaking from experience...~~_

_I said no._

_~~'kay~~_

Dani sat down on the floor and began focusing on channeling her newly available power to heal the various scrapes and bruises.

***  
When she opened the door that evening expecting Davis with her dinner, it was Crowley instead.

_~~what's that sonuvabitch doing here?!?~~_

She immediately started to shut the door, but he put a foot out to stop it. He was carrying the bag of dinner in one arm and a bunch of flowers in the other hand.

"May I come in?" It was almost humble. He thrust the flowers at her. She flinched at the movement, then stared at the flowers expressionlessly. She didn't--couldn't--look at him.

"I don't do flowers," she lied. 

"Throw them out, then." It wasn't petulant or angry or sarcastic, just a mild suggestion. He kept his foot in the doorway, didn't pull the flowers back, and just stood there.

"Are you going to stand there until I take them?" she asked levelly.

"Yes."

"Fine." She snatched them from him, and tossed them into the entryway trashcan. "Now you can go."

Instead of turning away, he held out the dinner bag. She set her teeth, and took that from, him, too, placing it on the entryway table.

"Now you can go," she repeated.

He put his hands in his pockets, and asked again, "May I come in?"

_~~you aren't letting him in, are you?!?~~_

"What part of 'Now you can go' is difficult to understand?" she hissed. She finally looked up at his face. He was looking at her calmly, no smirk, no affectations, no ugly smile, either. It was strangely as if she was seeing the stripped down version of him. She was horrified to realize that, even after what had happened, the mesmerizing attraction she felt for him was still there. 

_What the hell is WRONG with me?_

She opened her mouth to say "No!" and was stunned to hear herself muttering, "Okay," and opening the door to let him in.

_~~oh, girl. girl, you are walking into a downright dysfunctional abusive relationship, right here and now, with eyes wide open. don't do this. aren't you supposed to be some damn powerful-smart demon lady? and a so-called feminist to boot? shit. don't do this.~~_

_You are a wise woman sometimes, Innie-Me..._

_~~then listen to me.~~_

She grabbed the bag from the entryway table and walked into the living room. He closed the door behind him and followed, stopping at the living room entrance. She put the bag down on the coffee table, and turned to face him, folding her arms defensively, an unspoken way to shut him away. She stood staring at him, clenching her jaw.

"Well?"

He looked at her cheek, then darted a glance at her wrists. "You aren't hurt?" He sounded...relieved.

"I spent hours today healing myself. Davis's suggestion," she threw at him angrily.

He closed his eyes, folded his lips, jerked his head in a nod. "I did not...intend to hurt you."

She snorted in disbelief. "So. You _rape_ me, but that, in itself, doesn't count as 'hurt' in your book. Am I getting that right?"

He actually flinched. He waved a hand helplessly, opened and closed his mouth, then finally merely said, "No. It counts." He stuffed his hands back in his pockets, rocked back and forth on his heels, then shrugged. He turned back to the door, saying, "Enjoy your dinner."

She stared after him, anger growing. "That's _it_? That's all?! 'It counts'. No shit."

He stopped before the door, then abruptly turned around. She couldn't help it, his sudden movement made her flinch again. "I won't bother you again. I merely ask that you continue trying to find a way to get _this_ \--" He hissed the word out with loathing, and held out his hands at waist level. She no longer needed to look sideways to see the golden binding; it must be a manifestation of her growing ease with demon powers. "This... _thing_...off."

Her jaw dropped and she hissed a breath in. "Is _that_ why you're here?!? You egotistical son of a bitch." She couldn't find any words equal to the fury that rose up at that realization. Not contrition, just a selfish need to remove a burden from his life. All she was was a tool, a means to an end.

" _NO_!" he shouted. He threw his head back, gritting his teeth. "Dammit, woman! I was _trying_ to say--". He stopped, glared at her. His jaw worked, then he spat out, "I came to--" He stopped again. "Bloody hell. I am the King of Hell--"

"Former," she spat back at him, wanting to hit where it hurt.

"--I do what I want, when I want! I don't _do_ apologies. _Demons_ don't do apologies." 

"The King of Hell doesn't lose control! The King of the Crossroads doesn't let someone else control him!" she shouted, losing it. "You're just an impotent _nothing_ now, and it just infuriates you, makes you feel small, doesn't it, and so you let it all loose on those around you, instead of at the _real_ target, because you can't, because now you're just a scared demon who's living life as someone else's little bitch, you bastard!"

_~~oh shit, that's torn it. Are you trying to get us killed?!~~_

He was beside her suddenly, taking her shoulders and shaking her violently, his eyes flaring red again.

"Go ahead! Use _me_ to make yourself feel big again, like you actually _are_ in charge of your own life, instead of Lucifer's fucking lapdog errand boy! Or go beat on Davis, I'm sure he won't complain, God knows what you've done to _him_ these past few months and he's still with you--"

His fingers dug into her shoulders, but he stopped shaking her. He closed his eyes, and ground out, like an angry chant, "I _am_ in control. _I_ am in control. I am in _control_." He opened his hands, releasing her, took a step back, and re-opened his eyes. The angry smoky red glow was gone. He just looked tired. He lowered his hands slowly.

"Well. This has been intense," he said lightly.

She drew a breath in again, ready to continue hitting him with her words. He put a finger on her lips to stop her.

"Enough. You are right. I am taking out my...rage...on the wrong targets. I know it. I came to--" He stopped. Then he gave a small puff of laughter. "I still can't say it. Too bloody proud." His eyes captured hers and held them. God help her, she felt the immediate familiar shortness of breath, the heartbeat speeding up, the shiver where his finger touched her, the heat growing in her body.

He swept the back of his hand lightly across her cheek, then held her face in his hands, and kissed her, oh so gently. He laid her head on his shoulder, stroked her hair, and whispered, "I am so very sorry, Dani-girl."

_~~honeymoon phase. go google 'cycle of abuse'.~~_

_Shut up._


	14. Wrong Side of Heaven (Five Finger Death Punch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam struggles with his demon blood addiction, reawakened by Lucifer.
> 
> * * *

The need had driven him from the bunker, first into Lebanon, then, when he could find no demons there, further away, to Kansas City. He figured that where there was a greater density of people, there was a higher likelihood of demons. He was in the downtown entertainment district. Friday early evening meant that there were tons of business people, financial workers, heading out after a long week of work, pouring into the streets, heading to the Midland Theater or the Howl at the Moon or other restaurants and theaters.

Sure enough, he had caught whiffs. Back when he and Dean were hunting the Horsemen, it had been creepy to him, the way he could sniff out demons. That ability had disappeared entirely when Cas had brought him back from Hell, but now it seemed back. He had followed one trace, only to be thwarted by the crush of people around him; that demon was far enough away that the trace had been faint and easily obscured.

His skin itched. His mouth was dry. As he walked, he kept his hands balled in the pockets of his jacket to hide the way they flexed incessantly, kept his head slightly hunched so the way his eyes darted back and forth, scanning, wouldn't be readily apparent to the crowds.

He was standing across the street from the entrance to the Midland when the soft, regular thump of a heartbeat caught his attention. He lifted his head and sniffed. There. To his left. Close by. He started walking in that direction, long legs eating the pavement so that, while he looked like he wasn't moving fast, he passed people easily. He wove through the crowds, muttering absent excuses if he jostled someone, following his senses.

The crowds parted, and he stopped in the small clearing, seeing ahead of him a blond man in a short leather jacket and skin-tight jeans who was moving up to follow a well-dressed young woman into a neon-lit night club.

Him. He was a demon, he could hear the heartbeat, smell the whiff of sulfur. Now. How to separate him from the crowd?

He sped up, still looking deceptively nonchalant, and angled in towards the man, using his height and bulk to jostle him, edge him towards the alley.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, man!" The demon shot him an angry glance. As they neared the entrance to the alley, Sam caught his upper arm in a punishing grip, pushed him in. No-one seemed to notice, everyone too caught up in their own business, or too involved in conversation, to spare a glance.

"What the hell?!?" The demon was trying to yank his arm loose, struggling to pull back to the main street, thinking he was dealing with a mugger. He flashed his beady black demon eyes at Sam. "Dude, you have no idea what you're up against here!" he huffed. 

Sam merely smiled a toothy, dangerous smile down at him as he dragged him behind a dumpster and drew the demon blade.

"Oh, I do. You're just what I've been looking for." He slammed him against the wall of the building, stunning him, and slashed his throat. He trembled, watching the blood begin to run out, hating himself, then dipped his head down to drink deep. He paused, lifted his head up, drew a shuddering breath, and smiled at the body he was holding up against the wall. "Just what I _need_."

He leaned forward to drink even more.

***  
He huddled behind the dumpster, crying. Loving it, wanting it, needing it. Hating it, despising himself, loathing it. He had forgotten the rush. When he had told Dean, six years ago, that he didn't do it for the rush, he had been lying. Oh, he had had plenty of other reasons, yes. But the power--! The feeling of it coiling through his body--! The deep-down, soul-deep awareness of what he could do with such power--! The almost sexual feeling--! From the first time, he had known he didn't have the strength to push it away unless he had help. He had lied so damned much about it. It had made him so ashamed, to be so out of control, to need something so evil so very much.

He lifted his head to see, again, the traceries of energy that underlay the world. When he first met Cas, he had wondered if that was how he saw everything, all the time. He still didn't know. He looked up at the buildings around him, and saw skeletons of energy outlining them, where the electric lines were embedded in the walls and floors.

He reached in his pocket for the wet-wipes he had brought with him, ripped one open, cleaned the blood and tears from his face, his hands. Then he got up, tugged his shirt and jacket back into place, and left the alley, plunging back into the crowds.

Everywhere he looked, there were people. Lying over them, like drawn on tracing paper, were the flashes of blue light that he now knew were people's actual souls. He knew that, if he wanted to, he could tangle his fingers in those knots of blue light and pull them loose, set them flying. One saving grace of his personality was that, even high on the power, he had no desire to do that. But he knew that he'd also see the red webwork and dark, smoky, oily shadow that was a demon, if he happened to pass near one. He'd be able to pull them loose, release the blue souls from their dark cages, push the demons back into Hell.

He walked back to where the Impala was parked, looking around, reveling in the difference, loving the wire work of electricity he could see surrounding every building. The streets and sidewalks beneath his feet were glowing yellow rivers of energy where the electric mains were, with streams diverting to each building, then dividing again and again. The closest thing to it he could think of was when he had seen computer boards, with their gold plated lines coiling and bending around.

Or Tron, come to think of it. He snorted at the thought.

He passed a few couples, and smiled; it was fascinating to see the way their blue souls drifted towards each other, tangled at the edges. It was the kind of thing that gave him faith in humanity, the way that people could surrender parts of themselves without realizing it, become actually one with the object of their love. But, still...it didn't make up for how he got the ability to see it...

When he got back to Baby, he climbed in and leaned his head against the steering wheel, clutching it in his fists.

He hated Lucifer for doing this to him. _Hated_ him. Previously, it had been almost intellectual--Lucifer was evil, he was going to destroy humanity, he needed to be put away, conquered for the good of all. Even after his endless stint in the Cage, with all the torments that had entailed, it had been so utterly painful and surreal that it had seemed almost as if it had happened to another person.

But now. Now, Lucifer had dumped him right back into the most shameful, vile, hateful, hated part of his life.

Now it was personal.

He turned the key in the ignition, pulled the car out, and began the drive back to the bunker.

***  
The drive back was giving him a chance to come down from the high a bit. Getting away from the city, away from the overwhelming visions of various types of energy, into the darkness, gave his senses a rest. He could think now, now that the need was fulfilled, now that he wasn't being driven by it. It would be days before he would feel that insistent push to hunt, find a demon, drink its blood. It might even be longer; he had drained the demon dry.

And the person the demon was possessing.

He flinched away from the thought.

His rational side reasserted itself. It wasn't a real demon, wasn't a real human he had killed. It hadn't really been Kansas City, with its glowing, pounding pulses of energy. This was all in his head.

At its base, it was all Lucifer fucking with his brain.

So the thing to do was to figure things out. For instance: was the power he was feeling real? Ruby had said, at the very end, while they were watching the Cage open, that he had the ability all along, and the demon blood was just a tool to get at it. If the power was real, it was something he could use to fight Lucifer, evict him from his body.

Maybe. Though the binding, which glared bright gold when he bothered to look at it, and its associated geas against attacking Lucifer would be a problem.

Or he could try using his power the way Andy had, see if he could find a way to contact Dean, send him visions. That wouldn't be much help if it were a one-way street: if the geas stopped him from attacking Lucifer, he needed a way to get rid of the binding. He was sure that Lucifer would stop him from doing that, but if he could contact Dean, find a way to get a conversation going, maybe Dean could work at releasing him from the binding from the outside.

It was a thought. There might be something in his mind's eye version of the bunker that would help him. It would have to be something he had actually seen in the real-life bunker, something that his brain had used to populate his inner version of it. In fact...now that he was really thinking...the spell Dean had used to try to contact him while Gadreel was possessing him. Would it work the other way around...?

He pulled Baby to a stop outside the bunker and headed in.

It was nice to have a plan.

***  
He remembered he had cornered Dean well after the fact, after he had stopped being so very furious about Dean tricking him into saying yes to Gadreel. He had interviewed him about the sigil used, how to use it, then written it up. The problem was that he had then put it somewhere in the files, and couldn't remember where.

No matter that he was inside his brain, dealing with a simulacrum of the bunker, and should be able to just remember where it was. It was like trying to remember something in real life--you knew you had it in your memory somewhere, but prodding at the memory often made it sink down, hide away, and the only way you remembered was two nights later, waking up at 3 a.m., going, "Oh! _That's_ what it was!"

He wasn't going to wait for the flash of memory to sneak up on him days later. He was going to find the damned thing _now_.

So he started systematically going through the files, trying to remember how he had filed that little snippet. It was before he and Charlie had started digitizing everything, scanning them into text and graphic files, putting them onto portable hard drives and storing the copies in safety boxes at local banks. So that meant it had to be...

There!

He pulled the box out, opened it, pulled out the file. He sat down on the floor, re-reading the interview. Dean's rage at being tricked by Gadreel oozed through every sentence. Sam snorted, then flipped the page. There was the sigil.

Now the question was...did it need real blood, or would using his inside-the-brain blood, coupled with his power, do the trick? And would it work at a distance, or did you have to be physically near, standing with the person you were trying to talk to? No other way to find out...

He pulled out his knife, slashed his forearm, started painting the sigil on the nearest wall with his blood. He drew a deep breath, focused, and laid his palm on the sigil. It flared with power.

"Dean...?"

Nothing.

"Dean?"

Still nothing.

He focused harder, pulling at his demon-blood fueled power, his face scrunched up with the effort, and shouted: " _DEAN!!!"_

***  
Dean was standing at the kitchen stove in the cabin, cooking hash browns and a spinach and Swiss cheese omelet for himself and Charlie. Charlie and Cas were seated at the table, and they were all sifting through various ideas on how to contact Sam. Charlie had brought up the dreamroot tea yet again, and Cas and he had shot it down, yet again. It was a wild relief to know Sam was still alive, still buried deep in his body, but it was frustrating as hell to know he was there, but they had no way of contacting him.

"Maybe we should call that Danielle Lippmann again," Charlie said, throwing up her hands in frustration. "I mean, she helped you guys out right away, she seems to actually know her stuff, the way she talked to me when I first got in touch with her--I quizzed her!" she said proudly. "I mean, on stuff she just had to know, if she was what we needed, and she knew it all, and she knew what the symbol on the medallion was, and--"

"And we need to be very cautious about who we talk to about this, and how much we let them know," Cas interrupted her sternly.

Dean tried a bite of the hash browns, decided they were ready, and turned the burner off. "And she needs esoteric knowledge as payment," he added, pointing the spatula for emphasis. "What've we got to tempt her? The bunker has gone kablooie, so we don't have that..."

Charlie twisted around to look at him. "But--but--omigod, you don't know, didn't Sam tell you--"

He lifted the edge of the omelet with the spatula, peered under it, flipped it. "Didn't he tell me what?"

"We were digitizing the whole thing! It was taking forever to do, but we were doing it in bits and pieces, didn't you see us hanging around the scanner all the time?" Dean looked at her, stunned. "What we really needed was an intern," Charlie added thoughtfully. "Some hungry student from one of the Kansas City colleges. I kept telling Sam that, but he said we had plenty of time, there was no big hurry, but I was so sick of laying those pages out on the scanner bed, and dealing with that stupid, finicky software, but he just wouldn't do it--"

Dean interrupted, speaking slowly. "Are you telling me..." Then he stopped and snorted, turning back to the omelet. It was done, so he cut it in half, slipped the halves onto plates, added a large helping of crispy hash browns, and slid one plate in front of Charlie. He grabbed a fork, stuffed a piece of omelet in his mouth, and continued with his mouth full, "Oh, well, it doesn't do us any good anyway--any digitized stuff was blown to bits with the rest."

Charlie jumped up, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him in excitement. "No, no, no! We made copies! Omigod, you don't think we just kept them in the bunker, that would be _idiotic_ , disaster recovery plans mean you _always_ keep copies off-site, Sam rented safety deposit boxes and every time we updated the digitized stuff, one of us would stash a copy at the bank--"

She stopped, because Dean had swept her into his arms and swung her around in a circle, kissing the top of her head. "You--! You and Sam--! Copies! Son of a bitch! My hero!"

He dropped her back on her feet, and she laughed breathlessly, tucking her dark red hair back behind her ears. "Well! It's just basic IT stuff, you know I know that like Gandalf knows magic and Aragorn knows leadership! But I won't turn down a compliment! Yeah, we have copies."

Dean looked at Cas, who looked back at him and nodded. "Then we have something we can use to pay Lippmann for her services..." Cas mused. Dean picked up his plate again, took a bite of hash browns, then nibbled on his lips thoughtfully, and rubbed the back of his head. 

"We can't just give them to her. We can't give her everything. It has to be just a bit. We'd have to have someone watching her all the time--"

He stopped, tilting his head, as if he heard something.

"Did you hear that?"

Cas and Charlie stared at him blankly. "Hear what?" Charlie asked. "I don't hear anything, do you, Cas?" Cas shook his head. 

Dean shook his head. "Nothing, I guess--". Then he stopped, frowning. "There it is again. Hunh."

Charlie chattered on. "So we keep someone with her, carefully parceling out--"

Dean's eyes widened, and he dropped his plate. It fell to the floor, the food spilling off across the floor.

_"SAM?!? SAMMY?!?"_

***  
Sam slumped down on the floor, heaving a sigh of relief.

"Dean. You can hear me."

It was as if Dean were at the end of a very long tunnel--he could barely hear him, and his voice was tinny and echoed, but he was there.

"Dude. Are you all right?!?"

Sam stared absently at the wall, where his hand was firing up the sigil. The sigil was glowing blue, then gold, then red, like a strobe light. Behind it, the wall was lined with the electric wiring of the bunker, which glowed a slightly different golden yellow than the electric wiring outside the bunker had. Sam wondered if that was a symptom of the fact that they had never been able to find where the power in the bunker came from, that what they suspected--that the bunker was powered magically--was true.

No, he wasn't going to tell Dean about the demon blood.

"I'm fine," he lied. "But. Lucifer has me tied up with some weird magic chain, a golden chain. He says, and I quote, 'it's a very old, very powerful, very obscure binding spell'. It's set up so I can't fight him. I can sneak out my voice like this, though it's hard, and I don't know how long I can keep it up, but I can't toss him out."

"Well, shit, man. That sucks."

Sam laughed faintly. "Yeah."

"So what are we gonna do?"

It made him feel warm and safer, to hear Dean ask that. The automatic assumption of "we". They were still in it together. They'd find a way; they always did.

"I dunno. The first thing is to find a way to get this binding off."

"Hmmm. We might have a resource to help us figure that out, we'll check on it. We were gonna use her to contact you, but looks like we don't need to do that now. So..." He changed the subject. "Were you really chasing something that drank blood and mummified people?"

Sam laughed. "God, yes! How'd you know about it? We had almost cracked the case, too, when I finally broke through, realized that it wasn't real..."

"Yeah, well, Lucifer was all chatty Kathy for about five minutes, and then the shit was about to hit the fan. You broke through at just the right time, dude. Kept us from being demon donuts."

"Glad I could help. So...Dean...how are _you_? You looked...tired when I saw you. like shit, frankly. Tell me quick, the sigil is fading." And it was. The colors were cycling less rapidly, and dimming as he watched.

There was a long pause. "Eh. I'm fine, Sammy." _Lie_ , he thought. "We'll work on getting you loose. Hang in there, buddy." The last words were barely audible.

"You, too, brother," Sam whispered. He let his arm slide down the wall, breaking contact. He looked at the traces of wiring glowing in the wall, and realized that part of his brain was already planning the next demon hunt, looking forward to the first bright crash of power surging through his body.

He shuddered, and hoped Dean could break him loose soon.


	15. Won't Back Down (Tom Petty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The occult archives of Hell end up being a bust for Crowley and Dani, but a new possibility opens up; Dean makes a deal with Dani for help breaking the binding on Sam.
> 
> * * *

Dani closed the twenty-sixth box with a sigh, carefully layering the flaps and tucking the final corner in. She leaned her elbows on the box, cupping her chin in her hands and staring out the French doors at the early November snow swirling down. The garden was all dead, brown perennial stalks; Miss Durfsman, the upstairs neighbor, hadn't cut the stalks down yet, so it looked messy and untidy. But it provided nice nooks and crannies to capture snowflakes.

She sighed again and slowly stood up.

Not there. After the first burst of new binding spells, there had been nothing. Nothing more. Oh, there had been lots of tantalizing occult tidbits, some excellent background on a variety of other spells, and some extraordinarily boring history of the court, but nothing on the golden chain binding Crowley to Lucifer.

She ran her hands through her hair, not caring that it made the short strands stand straight up.

It looked like she was going to have to continue the hard way, trial and error, experimentation. In the abstract, she was fine with that; she loved digging deep into the essence of spellwork, determining what was really needed for a spell to work versus what was set-dressing, extraneous, and could simply be ignored. But the hard way took time. Lots and lots of time.

She was thinking they didn't _have_ lots of time. 

She walked over to the doors, folded her arms, and leaned against the frame, idly sending slow puffs of breath toward the cold glass and watching as it condensed, then faded away.

_~~no luck?~~_

_No luck._

She angled her head closer to the glass and breathed several times in quick succession to get a nice big patch of condensation. Then she reached forward with a finger and drew the outline of a heart, wrote, in block letters, "DL + C" inside it, and decorated it with an arrow.

_~~you did not just do that. that is so disgustingly middle school. and about that pig sonuvabitch, too.~~_

She huffed out a small laugh, and quickly swept her hand across it, blotting it out.

_Nope. You didn't see that._

_~~you are one mixed up female. i don't know what to do about you. it will happen again. you need to protect yourself, protect us.~~_

_Blah blah blah. Stop nagging. What's past is past._

She took a step back, about to head into the kitchen, when the sound of air moving out of place alerted her to his appearance behind her. She slammed down hard on the flight-or-fight response, smothering it. His arms slid around her waist and his teeth nipped gently on her ear.

_~~oh. it's the beast.~~_

Innie-Me radiated disapproval.

"Good morning, Dani-girl," he murmured.

"Mmmf," she responded. He continued the tiny bites, moving down to the nape of her neck, one hand sliding up under her shirt, the other slipping into the waistband of her sweats.

She frowned sightlessly out the doors, for once not responding, tapping her teeth and tumbling strategies and approaches for breaking the spell over in her head.

He drew back slightly, then poked her in the ribs. "I am sensing a certain disinterest here, darling," he drawled, amused and slightly insulted.

"Hmmmm...?" She shook her head abruptly, coming back to the present. She turned around in his arm. "Sorry. I was thinking." She looked up at him, reached up to outline his beard with a finger, then gently bopped him on the nose with it. She sighed again. "We have a problem."

"We do?" He turned his head just enough to capture the finger in his mouth, sucked on it, scraping it lightly with his teeth as he released it. When she still didn't respond, he snorted softly and wrapped his arms around her, abandoning the effort. "So what _is_ our problem, pet?"

She frowned again, unfocused eyes gazing into the distance. "I've gone through all the boxes. I've looked at everything, catalogued everything, and it's not there. Nothing at the NSA, nothing in the Warehouse 13 archives, nothing, nada, zero, zilch."

He stiffened. "Ah. The research." He let his arms slide away, then he linked his hand into one of hers and drew her back to the sofa. He sat down, draping one arm along the back of the sofa, pulling her to sit down beside him with the other. She twisted and slid down to rest her head in his lap, stretched her legs out to rest her feet on the other sofa arm. He wiggled beneath her, stretched his own legs to rest them on the coffee table, and started mindlessly twisting a lock of her short hair around his fingers. His face was grim, eyes dark.

"So, my delicious little head research honcho. What's next on the agenda?" His glance flicked down at her, and he lifted an enquiring eyebrow. "You _do_ have an agenda, I presume?"

She chewed on her lips. "I've been trying to reach a hacker recommended to me by my tame PI. No call back yet. I'm hoping she can get me a back door into the Vatican's occult database. Right now, that's the last resource I have." She dug a finger into the fabric of the sofa, dragging it back and forth, following it with frowning eyes. "Dammit. The Men of Letters bunker..." Her voice dwindled off sadly.

He barked a harsh laugh. "I was _there_ , pet. Resurrected in the midst of that howling tornado. Bloody show-off, Lucifer is, no need for that tantrum. There's nothing left, so you can just abandon _that_ pretty little daydream, kitten."

She tilted her head back in his lap to look up at him. "Then we try the Vatican database, and if that doesn't pan out, all we have left is a long, hard grind to try to build a brand new unbinding spell. Which will take a long time."

His hand twisted in her hair, hard. He bent his head down over hers, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and a small flicker of crossroads-demon red burning in his eyes. "I _need_ this thing gone, Dani-girl," he hissed. "Soonest."

"I know."

She looked up at him, eyes locking with his. The red faded, his eyelids drooped, his lips parted. "In the meantime, pet..." He slid his arm off the back of the sofa, trailed that hand possessively across her stomach. "I think we should do some applied research, eh?" He tugged her head down, off the other side of his lap, so her back arched slightly, and he smiled lazily down at her as his hand slid under her waistband, then her undies, then between her legs. She pulled one leg up, let it drop to the side, arched her back even more, and moaned as he began finger fucking her.

_~~well. he may be an abusive controlling pig beast, but god damn, he is so fucking good at this stuff...it's just another way to control you, y'know...ohhhhhhh, damn...~~_

He pulled his fingers out, trailed the wetness back up her stomach, lifted his hand and slowly sucked each finger clean. She whimpered, watching him. He flicked an eyebrow up, his eyes glittering. "What's that, little baby demon girl?" he murmured.

She squirmed. "Don't stop--"

"Oh, I think I need to hear you beg me, pet," he purred, yanking her head back further by her hair, and slowly sliding the wet fingers across her top lip, then gliding them into her mouth. She licked, and bit, and breathed, " _Please--!_ "

He pressed his hand back between her legs, slipping the tips of two fingers barely into her, then stopped. "Like... _this_...?"

"More--!" She writhed in frustration.

"I don't hear you begging, kitten." His voice was cold and light and amused, taunting her. He rocked her head gently side to side.

_~~dani, i am begging you to beg him!~~_

Dani cried out, lifting her hips to meet his hand, "Okay, you bastard, yes, I'm begging you, please, more, don't stop!"

He breathed, " _That_ is what I was waiting for, Dani-girl." He leaned down, kissed her lips brutally hard, and plunged his fingers deep in.

***  
_One more time..._

She punched the hacker's number, let it ring. After a call a day for the past week, she was about to give up. She hadn't bothered leaving messages, she figured hacker-girl wouldn't want any recorded trace of contact. But at this point, if there was no answer, she'd have Jose track a different one down. Time for a new--

"Hello! Sissy Butler here!" came the breathless answer.

Dani blinked. An answer!

_~~sissy?!?~~_

_Yeah, well, people don't always choose their own names..._

"Ms. Butler? You don't know me; my name is Danielle Lippmann--Jose Alvarado passed your name on to me as someone who might be able to help with a slight networking problem I have encountered. I've been trying to reach you for a week..."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line, and Dani frowned. Jose had specified the "networking problem" phrase as this woman's code for "I need some hacking done", but maybe he was wrong...?

Just as she was about to apologize, ditch the call, the girlish voice at the other end of the line gasped, and started chattering.

"Oh! Oh, my! Ms. Lippmann, was it? Oh, I'm sorry about that--my phone got smashed and I was on vacation and I only just got back and got a new phone--the SIM card survived, thank goodness, but I've been--been incommunicado, but now I'm back and everything's just fine now...um...thank you!"

Dani blinked again. This rushing stream of chatter belonged to "the best hacker out there"? Really? And there had been something strange about the way she said Dani's name, like she was emphasizing it. She shook the thought off, chalking it down to imagination.

"Well, I'm pleased to hear it. Jose said you were the best, and what I need is somewhat...touchy."

"Oh! Yes! I mean, I'm good with touchy. So who d'you want hacked?" she asked nonchalantly.

"The Vatican."

There was another silence. Dani imagined big Bambi eyes widening in surprise, and stifled a snort of laughter.

"Oh! The Vatican. Whoa. That's...um...certainly different! Any particular system at the Vatican? Or just the whole shebang? I mean, I can do either, but one will be quicker than the other, y'know. Less work. I think. Well, depending on the system..." Her voice trailed off; she was obviously thinking. This was more reassuring.

Dani sat down on the ottoman, slanted a glance at Crowley in his dressing gown, gave him a thumbs up gesture. He nodded absently, and rearranged the newspaper in his hands, taking a drink of tea.

"This is a buried Jesuit database, only one port open in from the general Vatican network. Oracle based. Alias is VATOCC. I had a backdoor in a few months ago, but their security team found it and blocked it. I need another way in. Can you do that for me?"

"Oracle, psshhhh. Easy peasy. Can Hermione do magic? Of course. You'll have to pay fairly well, though." Dani rolled her eyes at the Hermione comment.

"The sky's the limit on payment. This is somewhat urgent. Normally I would dicker over the price--". Crowley's head jerked up; he dropped the paper, frowning, and urgently shook his head. She shook her head back at him, holding up a hand. He flung his own hands up, clutched his hair in frustration, and grimaced at her. "--but name your price." He winced in pain, mouthing, "'Name your price'?!? Idiot!" She threw a pillow at him.

"Hmmm. Okay! Twenty grand!" It sounded like she had just grabbed a number at random. Dani had actually expected worse.

"Done. Give me a call when you've got the tunnel working."

"Whoa, whoa, wait--half down, half on completion," Butler suddenly sounded totally businesslike. "I'll shoot you an anon email with the routing number."

"Done and done. Email is dani at Lippmann dot com. Like I said, give me a call when you've got it working."

"Sure thing! Um...nice doing business with you!"

The line went dead. Dani dropped the hand with the phone, and frowned at Crowley. "Just what was _that_ , anyway?"

"Who taught you to negotiate?!?" he growled. "That was painful to listen to, pet! You _never_ say 'Name your price'; if you do, the party of the second part knows they have you by the short hairs and can screw you six ways from Sunday!" He puffed his cheeks out, then blew out the breath in one go, shaking his head again. "No more negotiating deals for you, Dani-girl."

She shrugged. "I don't care. We have the deep pockets. We need that backdoor. We need it ASAP. I need to trawl that database, see if there's anything there. If so, yay; if not, then..."

He folded his lips. "It's the _principle_ of the thing...a good deal is a work of art, sweetness. It _hurts_ to listen to such a cock-up, hurts!" He snorted, glowered at her for a moment, then picked the newspaper back up. He muttered darkly, "It's like you're just begging to be fucked over."

They were both silent for a moment, then Dani's lips started twitching. She tried to keep from laughing, but a small snort escaped. He glanced up at her, and a wicked smile spread across his face in response. He dropped the newspaper again, got up from the sofa, and pulled her up off the ottoman into his arms. "Speaking of which..."

***  
Charlie dropped the phone on the coffee table, her eyes wide. She looked at Cas and Dean, drawing in a slow breath. "Well! That was a surprise!"

Dean sat down on the coffee table in front of her, dangling his hands between his knees.

"Talk to us, Charlie. What was that about? The Vatican? An oracle? What did she want? Do y'think she's open for business, that I can call her now, we can work something out?" His voice was urgent. Cas drew closer, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"An oracle?" Cas asked, puzzled, frowning. "Why would she need an oracle? And wouldn't we have to go to Greece for one? _Are_ there any anymore? They're not as reliable as prophets of the Lord, and even more obscure and poetic..."

Charlie held her hands up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Guys. Let me collect my thoughts instead of having them all scurrying about my brain like mice!" She tucked her shoulder length curls behind her ears, leaned back on the sofa, and thought a minute, ignoring the almost palpable impatience humming through Dean.

"'Kay. Oracle as in database, not as in legendary prophetic person." She frowned at both of them. "You guys leap to the supernatural too quickly sometimes, when there's a nice, simple tech answer available. She wants a backdoor into a secret Jesuit database. Like I said, easy. I just don't know why."

Dean sat up straight, rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. "I don't really care why, or what she wants. I just want to know if you think I should give her a call now, start negotiating for help getting Sam loose from this binding thing."

She blinked at him. "I dunno! Dean, I haven't the foggiest idea! Sure, why not? I guess?" She smiled. "She has a nice voice! And she handled my babbling pretty well, too! Some potential clients give up, they're sexists and--and--and corporationists, assuming someone who sounds like me, looks like me, can't be a good hacker." She frowned in dark disapproval, then brightened. "I'm amazed she didn't recognize my style from my email quizzes earlier...And my voicemails!"

Dean smiled at her. "You have a very different style in writing, kiddo," he reassured her. "And with short voice messages you sound pretty normal."

"That's a good thing! Right? I mean, I like myself, and can hide away and change my name and history and everything, but I just can't change my personality, which could pose a problem under the wrong circumstances--" She stopped to regain her breath.

Cas grinned down at her. "You are perfect the way you are, Charlie," he said with affection. She smiled broadly up at him, relieved.

"Oh, you!" She slapped his arm lightly. Then she stopped abruptly, eyes widening. "Can I _do_ that? To an angel? Whap him like a bestie?"

Dean snickered. "We've beaten each other black and blue. Sworn at each other. Saved each other. I think you can 'whap' him now and again..." Cas nodded in silent agreement, and winked at Charlie gravely.

Dean clapped his hands on his legs and stood up, digging in his back pocket for his phone. "Let's give this a whirl..." He scrolled to the Ls in his contact list, punched Lippmann's entry, and listened to it ring. When he got the message, he pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at it with surprise. "Hunh! She was just there...!" He dug mentally for his current alias, left a message, then hung up and shrugged. "Now we wait."

***  
She was naked on his lap in her nest, facing him, legs twined behind his equally naked back, fingernails digging deep into his shoulders, pulling at his beard with her teeth and growling, when the binding began to glow again.

"Dairich, tha bampot, Lucifer!" he snarled angrily. She blinked, having no idea what he had just said, sighed, and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"I take it you're being paged..." she muttered gloomily.

"Again! So soon, dammit! Yanking my bloody chain!" He shook his fists between them, and they both could see the chain glowing brighter and brighter, as if getting impatient. "I _loathe_ this," he spat.

She grabbed his head in both her hands, pulling it to face hers, staring deep into his eyes. Angry red light was smoldering in them.

"Promise," she hissed. "Swear it to me. You won't go anywhere near me or Davis when you get back, until you feel back in control."

He growled, trying to jerk his head away. She held tight, digging in with her fingers. " _Swear_ it!" She shook his head angrily back and forth. " _Swear_ it, dammit!"

He growled again, then sank his head onto hers. "I promise." 

_~~yeah, right. believe it when it happens.~~_

She was about to kiss him when he vanished from under her. She dropped a foot onto the bed, grunting. Then she started throwing pillows at the wall out of sheer sexual frustration.

***  
Later, she remembered that she had heard the phone ringing; she dug through her clothes in the living room trying to locate it. As she hit redial, she grabbed the pile of clothes and padded back to the bedroom to toss them in the hamper. She held Crowley's shirt in her hands and buried her head in it, breathing deeply, enjoying the swirl of his scent, the smell of their sex. And, of course, listened to the phone ringing.

"Hello?" She recognized the voice, vaguely. Nice deep male voice, rough.

"Hi, Dani Lippmann, returning your call...?"

"Ms. Lippmann, yes, this is Brian Roberts; you gave me the lead on that medallion last week...?"

She sat down on the bed abruptly, shocked. "Roberts?! I'm amazed. I never expected to hear your voice again. I thought you'd be dead."

"Yeah, well. Rumors of my death were premature." He laughed softly. "Your intel was very good; we found what we were looking for and retrieved it." She lifted her eyebrows, impressed. Whoever Roberts was, he must be very good to have survived against what she had decided to call Lucy's Gang.

"So. Since you called me again, I'd guess you're looking for some more intel. I'm willing to make a trade." 

_Not that it'll do us any good..._

"Hmmm. Yeah. What we're looking for is info on binding spells. How to undo them." Binding spells? Really? She drew a deep breath, rapidly mentally running through ways to handle this.

"Binding spells. Well, they come in many shapes and forms. Each has different ways to unbind it. Maybe I can help. Maybe not." Cagey. Approach this casually.

She heard the slosh of liquid in a bottle, then the sounds of drinking, followed by a small sigh. "A friend...a very old and dear friend...we grew up together. An angel tricked him into saying yes..."

Dani winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah. This angel. Well. He's not one of the good guys. More of a dick than angels usually are. He locked my buddy down, and then put a binding on him, to keep him from fighting back. All I know is it looks like a golden chain, and is described as 'very old, very powerful, very obscure'."

Dani twisted into herself to keep her gasp from being heard. She glanced over at the whiteboard, filled with possible spell flows for unbinding a golden chain, an "old, powerful, obscure" binding. She wasn't actually surprised; this conversation had taken on a surreal, destined feel. But, still. Even with an itch of forewarning, it was a shock. This angel Roberts was talking about must be in league with Lucifer, must have gotten the spell from him.

Or the other way around, that was possible, too.

"The older, more powerful, and obscure a spell is, the more difficult it is to break," she said quietly. "I suspect you don't have the price I would ask for such a large project."

He muted the phone. Talking with someone else, she would bet. He unmuted it a minute later, drew in a breath, and said, slowly, reluctantly, "I have something you might want. Badly. Very few people know this, but before the Men of Letters bunker was destroyed..."

She straightened slowly, listening with every fiber of her being.

"One of the Winchesters brothers--you know about the Winchesters and the Men of Letters bunker--?"

She hissed in a breath, staring at her bedroom wall. "Oh, yes. I wouldn't be much of an occult researcher if I hadn't heard of them."

"Yeah. Well. One of the brothers began digitizing the collection. Stored copies offsite."

What a magnificent lie! She would have bought it, if she didn't know better. She clenched her teeth, said coldly, "You're lying. I don't make deals with liars, Mr. Roberts. Good bye." She hung up the phone.

Crowley had been there. The bunker was pulverized. If the Winchesters had digitized, they would have had to have outside help. There were no rumors of that. None. It wasn't possible. Crowley would surely have known, he would have said something. She slammed her feet on the ground in frustrated fury. Damn! Oh, what a blessing that would have been!

The phone in her hand rang. She glanced down; it was the same number. She stabbed at the answer button, filled with rage.

"Don't call me again, Roberts," she snarled. "Dangling the chance of getting at that collection in front of me, when you know it's all gone--that's just sadistic. I'm hanging up again."

"Stop! Wait!" He paused, and for some reason, she didn't hang up. "I'm not lying; the Winchesters were friends, I know what I'm talking about, I know where to locate a copy, I'll let you see the files, just...just...we need your help." His voice cracked with emotion.

She still didn't hang up. She didn't know why.

Roberts began talking again. "We'd have to control your access. Only in a certain place. Someone with you at all times when looking at the files. No copies allowed out, unless it's of specific files and approved by me or one of my friends. Believe me. We have a copy."

It was the terms that made her believe Roberts. If it was a lie, he'd have just blithely promised her the whole thing, but anyone who had the real information knew just how useful, how powerful, it was, and how dangerous it could be to let it get out. A person who actually had it, who knew its worth--that person would surround any access with rules, restrictions, cautions. She trembled with yearning; a general desire to get her hands on some of the arcane information, but also specific desire to see if there was something within it that could solve Crowley's problem...and, by extension, theirs.

At the end of the call, she texted him, her hands shaking:

"I may have a lead on an amazing resource..."


	16. Devil Inside (INXS)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer thrusts Crowley into Sam's head as yet another precaution...but Sam and Crowley discover they are bound the same way, and start an alliance to remove the bindings.
> 
> * * *

He would be needing to hunt for demons again, very soon. He was on edge, alert, itching for the hunt. So, when he was abruptly assaulted in the common room of the bunker with the sound of a heartbeat, the smell of a demon, his reflexes whirled him around, sent his eyes darting, his hand behind his back at the waist sheath where the demon knife rested.

A familiar form in black stood on the other side of the table from him, back to him, dusting down his arms and shooting his cuffs. A dense deep red cloud of smoke overlaid his form, coiling and bending back on itself, laced with red webwork that flared and flashed and glittered in spots.

"Crowley?!?"

Crowley turned around, flashing a broad toothy white grin. "Moose! Darling!"

"Of all the people I know that I could hallucinate, why the hell am I hallucinating _you_?" he ground out. "I'll get real pleasure in killing you, even if it's not real."

Crowley dragged one of the oak armchairs out, sat down, placed his feet on the table with his legs crossed, and leaned back with his hands laced behind his head. Sam could see a flash of gold peeping out by his wrists. "Oh, Samantha, chill. No hallucination, it's really me, in the flesh. Or, _not_ in the flesh, as it were. Please don't kill me, there's a good boy; being killed by Dean earlier this year was enough excitement for me."

Sam moved around the end of the table, pulling out the knife, concealing it behind his back.

Crowley looked around, taking in the common room, the shelves of books, the artifacts, and sighed. "My Dani-girl would be in heaven--even though it's not real, it's the closest she'll come to seeing the actual thing. All based on your memory, right? I wonder..."

He slid his legs off the table, surged out of the chair, walked back to the end of the common room, peered at the bookshelves angling back. "A random one of these will do, probably one of the ones lower down, since you're such a giraffe-y freak of nature..." He sauntered down the space between two sets of shelves, bent down, pulled a book out. Sam trailed him, then stopped, blocking the way out, flexing his fingers on the hilt of the knife. Crowley flipped the book open, glanced at it, and grunted. "Heh. Just as I thought..." He thrust the open book at Sam, who, surprised, took it by reflex and looked down at it.

It was blank.

"Hunh," he said thoughtfully as he riffled the pages. Every single one. Blank. He closed the book, looked at the cover. It, too, was blank. He twisted the book around to see the spine. It had writing on it, yes, but it was blurred, impossible to read. Sam frowned, his forehead settling into deep wrinkles.

Crowley moved forward, pointed at the spine. Sam could see another flash of gold. "See? You never really paid attention to this one, never looked at it enough to have anything about it stuck in your memory. Interesting, eh?" He took the book back, crouched down and re-shelved it. He stayed crouching, but swiveled on the balls of his feet to face Sam, resting his forearms on his knees. The flash of gold Sam had been catching glimpses of revealed itself as a golden rope linking Crowley's wrists together. One remarkably like the one on his own wrists.

Crowley slanted a shrewd glance up at him.

"Moose, my precious sweetheart, put that knife away and let's chat about things, shall we? I really don't want to find out what happens to the me _outside_ you when you stick a knife into the me _inside_ you, if you get my drift."

Sam looked down at the knife. He had kept it clutched in his hand when he took the book, so it was no use pretending he didn't have it ready. He was getting the feeling that this wasn't a hallucination after all. The red oily smoke overlaying Crowley's body was...thicker, deeper, more real, than the smoke of the demons he had encountered in his mental version of Kansas City, even though the effect was much dimmer than when he had first drunk the blood. And there was an interesting few tendrils spiraling away from the main body of smoke, into the air, fading away at the edges, reminding him of something.

He shrugged and reached behind his back to re-sheath the knife. Honesty compelled him to say, "I may still kill you. Because I want to, so badly. And because I was just about to go hunting anyway. For demons. Because..."

Crowley gestured him to continue, a look of mild curiosity on his face.

"Because...?" he prompted.

Sam's mouth twisted. "Because blood. Demon blood." He couldn't continue.

Crowley looked up at him, puzzled, then drew in a slow breath as the answer dawned on him. A sly smile twitched at his lips. "Oh, my. That's pretty." Sam frowned, and he added hastily, "Very nasty, no doubt about it. But...so...so...beautifully cruel. Our Lucy is learning a bit of subtlety, it seems." He stood up from the crouch and edged carefully around Sam, who was still standing in the middle of the aisle between the shelves, then walked back to the table and sat down again.

Sam followed, feeling absurdly like a lost puppy dog, the way he was trailing around after Crowley. It was infuriating. He sat down across the table from him, opening his mouth to speak--

"Got any decent scotch in this made-up bunker of yours?"

Sam snapped his mouth shut with a click and frowned.

"What? We might as well be civilized."

Sam gritted his teeth and went to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He dropped the glasses on the table between them, poured a generous helping into each glass, set the bottle down hard, and sat down again, picking up one glass and pushing the other towards Crowley. Crowley picked it up, toasted him with it, and took a sip. He grimaced in disgust.

"Gah! I said 'decent' scotch! This is just barely above wood stripper." Sam noticed he still took another sip. He took a gulp of his own, then looked down at it, swirling the alcohol around.

"Talk, Crowley. What are you doing here? What's your game?" He shot a look at him from under his brows.

"First things first." Crowley leaned back, reached into his suit jacket, and pulled out an angel blade. Sam immediately dropped his glass and surged upward, poised to fight, leaning on his fists on the table, looming over him. "Relax, Moose. Touchy, touchy." He laid the blade down on the table between them, and Sam slowly settled back into his seat. "It seems you have a problem that requires a short-term remedy," he continued. Sam frowned. Crowley waved a hand in a "come along" gesture. "Demon blood? You need some? I have some?" He picked up the blade, flipped it thoughtfully, pursed his lips. "So. I slice my arm, give you some of the good stuff, and voila, you're good to go." Sam sat back and crossed his arms, giving him a suspicious look.

"What's in it for you?"

"For starters, then I don't have to worry about you stabbing me," he answered waspishly, placing the blade back on the table. He shrugged off his suit coat, unbuttoned his cuff, rolled up his sleeve, and regarded his arm thoughtfully. He pointed at a spot. "There?"

"Whoa! Wait just a second!" Sam squirmed uncomfortably, grimacing. "I'm not going to suck blood from _your_ arm! Ew." Sam was revolted at the thought, the intimacy it would force on him with a person he despised. A person he really, _really_ wanted to kill...except he kept coming up with ways to be useful, ways to ally himself with his enemies. 

Crowley grinned. "Why not? Too close for comfort?" He ran his eyes over Sam's body, and smiled in a totally different way, eyelids drooping. "It could be...fun, Sam. You might enjoy it. I know I would," he leered.

"You're disgusting, y'know that?" Sam stood up, and grabbed another glass from the liquor cabinet, thumping it down in front of Crowley. "Here. Use this."

Crowley pouted. "You're such a prude. Here I am, admiring those nice long legs of yours, that pretty hair, that firm ass..."

"Crowley--!" His voice rose dangerously.

"Tch. Your loss, Moose." He eyed his arm, shrugged, picked up the angel blade and sliced deep into the thick part of the forearm, hissing softly at the pain. He held it out over the glass and watched the blood drip in. Sam watched, too, hoping his desperate eagerness didn't show. He slid his hands off the table, into his lap, to hide the way they trembled. He could smell it, salty, sweet.

They watched the blood slowly collect, start to fill the glass. Finally, Crowley pulled his arm back and slid the glass across the table to Sam.

"Cheers. Seventeenth-century vintage, the finest."

Sam snatched the glass, lifted it to his lips, then stopped. Crowley was watching his every move. It was creepy. "Hey. Mind not staring? In fact, do me a favor, and don't watch at all." Crowley shrugged again and elaborately turned his head away, whistling. Sam tilted the glass, started drinking.

This blood was different, thicker, more real than that of the demon he had killed in Kansas City. The rush was also different. In fact, it was awesome; it slammed into him like a tidal wave, making him gasp, then shudder. He curled into himself in the chair, head down, fists clenching then opening multiple times. God! How would he escape this stuff when he returned to the real world?

He lifted his head finally, to realize that Crowley was staring openly at him. He pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. He didn't like that his weakness was so visible.

Crowley squinted at him. "So just how long before you're ready for a coherent conversation? We need to talk."

Sam choked out, "Just what are you doing here, anyway?" He tried to ignore the fire sliding along his veins, the power flaring in his fingertips, the sensual ache.

Crowley shrugged. "Lucy yanked my chain, stuffed me in here, told me to keep you from finding a way to attack him..."

Sam laughed, and gritted out, "Third prong. First is the binding--". He lifted up his wrists, shaking the chain. "Second, the demon blood. Third, you, you bastard."

Crowley held up a hand. "Now, Lucifer didn't specify anything else. So. If I were to, say, talk to you about ways to escape the binding, _technically_ you wouldn't be looking for a way to attack him, just a way to be free. Eh?" He lifted an eyebrow. Then he held up his wrists, displaying his own binding. "Now. It just so happens that I have a very capable..." He paused, smiled oddly, then continued, "Head research honcho working on this very same problem for me. She has been yearning--lusting, actually!--for the information in the Men of Letters bunker. Unfortunately, of course, the bunker was destroyed--"

"What?!?" Sam's jaw dropped in shock. " _Destroyed?!?_ " He glanced around the bunker, his eyes catching, here and there, on the streams of power sparkling inside the walls.

Crowley blinked at him. "Oh. Right. Yes. You didn't know; you've been stuck inside your head all this time. In a nutshell: Dean killed me, killed Cas, you said yes to Lucifer, Lucy rose up in all his mighty tantrum-y wrath and smashed the bunker into a million tiny pieces. The bunker is no more."

Sam's head was swimming. He seized on one item in Crowley's litany of disaster. "Killed _Cas_?!? But...but...I _saw_ him. Cas. When I broke through to Dean."

"Really?" Crowley breathed. "Now that is interesting. Hunh. So you managed to communicate with Dean? How?" His eyes were sharp and interested.

"Angel sigil. And before that--I caught Lucifer off guard, just for a second. So, wait. You say the bunker was destroyed...?" His heart ached, mostly for Dean's sake. Dean had latched onto the idea of the bunker as "home", so very hard. Its loss would cut into his soul.

Crowley looked around him at the common room. "Yes. This is all that's left. Your memories." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "Now, Dani--my research honcho..." The odd smile flickered across his lips again. "She's exhausted all our options except for some secret database in the Vatican. But if we could get her in here, inside your brain, so she could rummage around in what you know of it..."

Sam held up a hand, trying desperately ignore the glorious tracery of electricity that outlined the nerves embedded in it. "Wait. Surely that would be difficult, to say the least--"

Crowley chewed his lips. "I might be able to find a way that she could hitchhike here, if Lucy stuffs me in here again..."

Sam waved his hand impatiently. "No, no. You don't understand. It would be easier, right, if you didn't have to do it that way? If there was something you could do from the outside. There is..." He paused, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Letting Crowley know about the files, the digitizing...?

"There is...?"

Sam sighed, dropping his head in his hands. "Swear you'll use it only to find a way to break the bindings." He squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of other sight that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I seem to be surrounded by people wanting me to swear oaths about things these days," Crowley said sourly. "I promise, Moose. Just for the bindings."

Sam opened his eyes, looked up across the table at him. "We digitized a bunch of it. There are copies."

Crowley stared at him. "Copies. Of the information in the bunker."

Sam nodded. "Not all, but a good portion of it."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Copies," he repeated.

"Yes."

Crowley picked up his glass and drank the remainder of his scotch in one long gulp. "Moose. You have made me very happy. You will be making my Dani-girl very happy. You may have saved us all. Copies." He reached out, picked up the bottle of scotch, and poured more into both their glasses. 

"Ahem: Sam, do not attack Lucifer." He lifted his glass in another silent toast.

Sam eyed him dubiously. "Okay? Yeah? I mean, just why would you say that, when you know damned well that this--" He shook the chain, careful not to look too deeply at it. "--means I can't attack him anyway?"

"The letter of the law, Moose. Lucifer sent me in here with the instructions of stopping you from attacking him. I think he's gotten a tad paranoid where you're concerned. Anyway. I have officially prevented you from attacking him. Today's geas is fulfilled. Now. Where would Dani and I find these copies?"

Sam started to answer him, but was distracted by the maroon smoke drifting away from the main knot of Crowley's demon form. He found his eyes dizzily tracing the undulations, up to the ceiling, where they knotted up with tendrils of inky black smoke.

Crowley was snapping his fingers under Sam's nose. "Moose. Moose, are you there? Earth to Moose!" Sam came back to himself with a jerk, and pushed the annoying hand away.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here. Sorry." He started following the smoke again, and dragged his attention back, his head swimming. He asked, aimlessly, "Who are you tangled up with? Your smoke is red, but there's black smoke all knotted up with it on the edges..." His voice trailed off, as his senses were dazzled by the electricity lacing the ceiling and walls.

"That is a mighty fine high you've got going there, Moose..." Sam couldn't focus on the voice. "Let's get you off to bed, why don't we, so you can sleep it off."

"Dunno why it's affecting me like this..." He could hear how his voice was slurring, feel how he was staggering, leaning on Crowley's much shorter form. He seemed to have lost a slice of time; the last he remembered he was sitting in the common room. He stopped, swaying, caught by the intricate knot of power underlying the wall at the intersection of four corridors. He stepped forward, began tracing it with his fingers.

"It's my grade-A demon blood. Much higher octane than you're used to. Funny how I forgot to mention that..." Crowley's voice was amused, as he pulled Sam forward again. "I took the liberty of filling a thermos for you; it's in the fridge."

"'S'mighty fine of you. When you're not being a disgustingly creepy asshole, you can be okay." Sam thought a bit, then added, "...still wanna kill you, though, y'slimy bastard. 'S'all your fault. Lots of dead friends. All of this." He waved a hand around his head, indicating everything. "Y'got Dean mixed up in the Mark."

"Yes, well, I admit that didn't work out the way I intended. Here we are." He pushed Sam down to sit on his bed. Sam looked up at him, saw the demon smoke tendrils drifting off, and frowned. "Y'haven't answered about the other person...y'know when people--real people, human people--are in love, their blueness kinda meshes?" He twisted the fingers of his hands together in an awkward attempt to demonstrate. He blinked owlishly at Crowley, and clarified, "That's their souls, the blueness. Is it the same for demons?"

For a long time, Crowley didn't answer. Finally, he snapped, frowning, "Don't be an idiot."

"'Kay. Just wanted to know what the other smoke was about. 'S'pretty, all black and red."

"Mmmm. I think you need to be very cautious when you drink from that thermos. A glassful has made you drunk on power. Anyone could take advantage of you like this. Like, say, me." Crowley ran a leisurely hand through Sam's hair, slid the hand under his chin and tilted his head up. Sam tried to jerk his head away, but couldn't, his head spinning. Crowley drew a finger slowly, sensually, across Sam's lips, then sighed, patted his cheek, and stepped back. "Oh, dear. I seem to have lost my taste for ravishing drunks. A pity, such a waste of those lovely long legs... Go to sleep, Moose. I'll get in touch later about where those copies are; I wouldn't trust anything you told me right now."

Sam slumped back onto the bed. "Yeah, yeah. Smart demon." He concentrated on the coils of power slicing through his body. "Feels _sooooo_ damned good. Hate it. Love it. Can't think right now..." His voice trailed off. "Should yank you loose from that poor sucker you're possessing while I can..." He sat up, looked around wildly for Crowley, but he was nowhere to be found.


	17. Why Can't We Be Friends?  (War)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani teams up with Charlie and "Roberts", and gets access to the digitized copy of the Men of Letters archive.
> 
> * * *

Dani huddled on a bench in Memorial Park, her gloved hands tucked in her coat pockets, her chin ducked down in her scarf. She was using a trickle of power to keep herself warm in the unseasonable cold, but not too much. Davis had warned her, when he coached her on this little trick, that if you used too much, it leached energy from your vessel's body to the point where it would fail. Not a problem if you were using a throwaway, but if you intended to keep the same body for any amount of time it was good practice to keep it in good shape. She liked Innie-Me's body, had had it for three years now, and intended to keep it for a good long while more. So: just a trickle of power to make the chill less biting.

_~~thanks. i think.~~_

_Don't mention it._

Roberts had said he would meet her here, then they would drive elsewhere. He didn't say where, just that it would take a few hours. So she had hopped on the Essex Line, gotten off in the center of Maplewood, and walked the rest of the way through the light snow. One day, she'd be able to transport herself right to a rendezvous point; so far, the furthest she had managed was a one-mile hop, which left her huffing and panting as if she had run the entire distance. No headaches or power hangovers, though, which was good. She was practicing multiple random hops, and could flit five hops in a row now.

_~~useful if mr. abusive shows up in his i-must-be-in-control state...~~_

_Enough. He made a promise. He keeps his word._

_~~yeah, yeah, yeah. been there, done that. maybe after that word gets broken fifty times in a row you'll stop believing it. took about that long for me.~~_

_Your experience is not universal._

_~~happens often enough to seem universal.~~_

_Cynic._

_~~foolish, stars-in-her-eyes romantic. can't believe i am saying that to a demon.~~_

She glanced up the pathway beside the creek. It was midday, midweek; there were few people in the park, so she assumed she'd see him coming. A couple was heading her way, a tallish man with short light-brown hair and stunning good looks, walking with a shorter red-haired girl who had to take quick steps to keep up with him. Dani dismissed them and looked the other way, on the lookout for a lone man, so was surprised to hear her name called out.

"Ms. Lippmann? Brian Roberts." She jerked her head around. The couple she had seen was standing in front of her, the man holding out his hand to shake hers. She stood up, shook his hand firmly. He indicated the girl beside him, said, "And this is Charlie Bradbury..." The girl stepped forward, offering her hand, too, and Dani shook it also. Her vivid red hair complemented her porcelain skin, and she had a wide, quirky smile. "Hey, there! I'm so glad to meet you, Ms. Lippmann! Can I call you Dani? This is great! I'm hoping you can help us, but I'm pretty sure you can, given your quick work with the medallion thing--that helped us a lot! Saved me a lot of trouble, y'know, and--"

"Charlie..." Roberts' voice held a warning, and Dani could tell he was trying not to roll his eyes. But there was a fond smile on his face; it was obvious that they had a close relationship.

"Oh, dear, I'm talking too much again, aren't I? I do that." She linked her arm in Dani's. "D--dear Brian puts up with a lot from me!" Dani fell into step with her, perforce, slightly overwhelmed by the rush of chatter. Then it all clicked.

She stopped dead on the pathway. "You're Sissy Butler," she said accusingly. Bradbury tugged on her arm, got her moving forward with them again.

"Oh, dear. That's my personal style coming through. Yes, that's one of the names I use, just for business purposes, y'know, I do have other names I use, but my friends call me Charlie--"

"Charlie! For God's sake! At least let us get into the car where it's warm..." Dani caught the glance he gave her, which said, as clearly as if he had spoken it, "before you let anything else slip."

Charlie bit her lip. "Sorry!" Then she turned to Dani, tucking an errant wisp of red hair behind an ear. Dani noticed her earrings--one was the Millennium Falcon, the other a flat enamel rendering of the Death Star. Her lips twitched in amusement at the geekery. "So! Dani! Have you lived in New York a long time? What got you into occult research?"

Dani smiled at her, deciding she liked this interesting, quirky young woman, and began loosening up.

When they climbed into the car--a nondescript compact rental--Roberts twisted in the driver's seat to look at her. "You get that us letting you at the Men of Letters files is a big deal, right?" 

She nodded. He gave her a crisp nod in return, reached over to the floor of the passenger seat, and pulled up a hood. "So. Then you'll get why we think we need this..." He held it out to her. Charlie twisted in her seat, too, saying, "We know it's a pain, Dani, but we really can't have you knowing where we're going."

Dani sighed, reached for the hood, slid it on over her head. She felt small hands tugging at it to adjust it, pulling the tie tighter under her chin and tying it. "I hope that's comfortable!" Charlie said.

"Just how long is this drive going to be?" she asked, resigned, her voice muffled by the hood.

"About four hours," Roberts answered.

Dani slumped back in the back seat. "Oh, goodie."

"We can talk shop on the way!" Charlie said brightly. "For instance, I've already found a way in to VATOCC."

Dani perked up. "Already?!? That was fast!"

Charlie laughed. "Can you believe it? Scott/tiger got me right in."

Dani gaped, then said in a disbelieving voice, "No. You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"No, really! I always try that first. You'd be amazed how many times it works..."

***  
The first hour was spent chatting about stupid security slip ups in the IT world with Charlie. The second they all spent singing along with classic rock on the radio. She slept for the final two hours, waking up when the car slowed down and began rattling over a rutted dirt road. Finally, there was the sound of the tires crunching on gravel, and Roberts pulled the car to a stop. Hands fumbled at the tie beneath her chin, then pulled the hood off. She shook her hair out, breathed in the fresh, cold air streaming into the car, and climbed out, staring at the rustic cabin in dismay.

"Oh, joy. Let me guess: knotty pine paneling, a tiny kitchen, maybe a few animal heads on the wall..."

Roberts placed his hands at the small of his back and stretched backwards, then sideways, glancing at her in amusement. "What? It's fine! Cozy! Comfy! It's even got bedrooms! And we have pie!"

She snorted, following them toward the door. "I'm a city girl at heart. Lofts, nightclubs, theaters, neon lights..."

His hazel eyes danced. If she weren't very...involved...she would be tempted just by those eyes. "Well. We've got Eva Gabor here, Charlie." Charlie began humming the theme from "Green Acres" as they took turns stomping off the snow at the door and stepped into the cabin. Dani rolled her eyes.

***  
The light-hearted atmosphere shifted almost immediately. They shed coats, boots, Roberts started a fire, and Charlie brought out a laptop hooked to an external hard drive. 

She looked up at Dani. "You understand this is all raw scans."

Dani dropped into the chair beside her, dismayed, looking at the multitude of directories Charlie was bringing up.

"Raw. No database?"

"We--they--didn't get to that before..." Charlie's eyes, normally bright, dimmed. Dani caught the "we", tucked the slip-up into her memory.

"No keywords, no tags, no summaries?!?"

"Nope." Charlie sat back, crossed her arms, sighed.

Dani leaned back, too, unconsciously copying Charlie's folded arms and sigh. "Well, shit." Then she sat up, slapped her hands decisively on the edge of the table, and said, "Gimme that." She grabbed the laptop. "Do you have MySQL or any other database program installed? I have a lot of work to do."

Roberts, who had been lurking behind them, listening in to the conversation, placed his hand on the laptop, slapped the lid closed. "Whoa. Wait a minute here. You're supposed to just be getting a look at some of this. What's this 'lot of work to do' shit?" He sounded abruptly hostile, protective of the files. Dani and Charlie looked up at him in tandem.

"De--dear Brian!" Charlie stuttered. "She's right. It's practically useless like it is. It'd be like looking for...for...oh, I don't know, a particular poem from 'The Lord of the Rings' by walking into a library and opening up every book in there and flipping through it until you find it."

Dani nodded. "Sorry, Roberts. I know this is very touchy information. That you want to protect it. But if you want me to get that binding off your friend--" _And off Crowley..._ "--this is our best resource. Aside from that backdoor into the Vatican database Charlie here has. It so happens that I have a...a friend...who is also chained by that binding." Charlie and Roberts both looked at her in shock. She waved an exasperated hand. "Look. We all have secrets. I didn't tell you because, frankly, it was none of your business. But. I've been working on this binding for weeks and found nothing. These two resources are the last chance we have to find the unbinding spell. Hopefully in one file, but probably broken across multiples. And to find it in these raw files...well. Our best approach is to set up a database with info on each file, then work with that."

Roberts squinted at her suspiciously, then turned to Charlie. "Charlie...?"

She nodded.

"Well, why can't _you_ do that? We'll just take Lippmann back, you do your thing, then we bring her back, let her locate the spell and give her a few bits of information--"

"De--dear Brian. I'm a hacker. I'm brilliant with networks, with cracking security, finding hidden information, breaking into banks and government networks. I don't _do_ databases."

Dani continued, as if they had rehearsed it, "Roberts. I'm a research librarian. I _do_ do databases."

Charlie added, "Well, actually, I _do_ do databases after they're built. But I don't set them up, figure out what data should go into them, put the data in..."

The two of them looked up at him, united in their determination. He glared at them, lips folded, then threw his hands up. "Okay. Fine. I trust your judgement, Charlie. _You_ say it has to be done this way...well, then, I guess I have to live with it. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Or trust _you_ , Lippmann."

She glared back at him. "Just let me get to work." He flipped the laptop open again, shoved it at her, and stepped back slowly, still suspicious.

Dani bent over the laptop, starting her work. She barely registered Charlie asking brightly, "So! What's for dinner?"

***  
Hours later, she stood up, stretching. It was late in the evening. Charlie and Roberts had settled on the sofa in the main room, watched a couple of movies, chatted. Roberts had slid a burger and chips in front of her at one point, which she acknowledged with an abstracted grunt. She had been more enthusiastic about the key lime pie, which was delicious.

At this point, she was exhausted, her head pounding. It was slow work, even though she was doing it as fast as she could. She needed rest.

"Yo. We have an extra bedroom," she heard. She jumped, whirled around. Roberts was leaning on the frame of the room divider, beer in one hand. He looked outrageously sexy in his plaid shirt layered over a black t-shirt, tight jeans, hair ruffled, eyes drowsy. 

_~~my. i'd do that in a heartbeat.~~_

_Well, yeah. Pretty yummy. But..._

_~~aw, c'mon!~~_

_Nope._

"Sounds good. I need a break."

"Back this way." He jerked his head to indicate the way, started walking down the hall. Dani grabbed the laptop and hard drive and followed. He stopped by a door, thrust it open, gestured her in. She glanced around, taking in the typical folksy decor, dropped the equipment on the bed, then stopped.

"Damn."

He had taken up a post leaning on the door frame, watching her. "Hmm?"

She sighed. It was such a small thing, but she was tired, dammit, and she had her habits. She waved a hand helplessly. "I didn't think I'd be staying the night...didn't bring my stuff. Toothbrush, nightshirt--"

He lifted the hand with the beer bottle to stop her talk. "Be right back." He slid out the doorway. Dani plopped down on the bed, testing it with her hand. Eh. Like she suspected: lumpy mattress, slightly fusty smelling. She sighed again, running a hand through her hair. She wanted Crowley. She wanted her own bed, her nest. She wanted the damned bindings long gone.

And something about the last few files she looked at was tickling at her mind. She couldn't pin it down.

Roberts appeared in the doorway with an armful of things, a new bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. "Toothbrush--new! Toothpaste. An old hairbrush, dunno whose, but any bugs are long gone--" Dani shuddered. "One of my shirts; I would've gotten one of Charlie's, but she's fast asleep and I didn't want to risk waking her up...she's had a tough time recently, needs her sleep." He dropped the pile on the bed and retreated to the doorway, absently opening the beer and taking a swig.

"Thanks."

He leaned on the doorframe. "So this friend of yours..."

"Mmm?" She looked around, grabbed the shirt, opened the closet door and started swiftly changing behind it. Roberts' shirt smelled...male. It reminded her of wearing Crowley's shirts. She missed him.

"Why's he bound?"

She poked her head around the door, frowned at him. "The...person binding him is using him to...to...run errands? I suppose?"

He drank some more. "Seems like a lot of work to go to for an errand boy..."

She stared darkly into the distance. "Yeah. Well. Look. I guess part of it is revenge. Personal. My...friend...helped get him thrown in prison." She was struggling with how to phrase it, no need to mention Lucifer, demons, the Cage. "Then he...escaped." She shrugged. "My friend was just a client at first. Now..." She moved back to the bed, sat down, scooted back to sit cross-legged against the thin pillows, settled her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. "What about your friend?"

Roberts took another drink, frowned at the bottle, swirled it, then bent down to place it on the floor in the hallway. When he stood up again, he had a new bottle in his hand. "My 'friend'...he's more like a brother to me. We've been through a lot together. He's smart. Tough. Determined. A damn fine Hunter. A _good_ man."

He kicked at the floor, then stepped into the room, sat on the foot of the bed, leaned back on it, feet on the floor. He draped his arm over his eyes. "This angel dude. Well. My br--friend, he traded himself as a vessel to get this fucking angel to get _me_ out of a bind. My fault. My damned fault he's trapped inside this fucking angel, caught by this binding spell. My fault. So many friends dead because of me--Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Rufus--and now this. _My_ fault." He looked over at her, turning his head under his sheltering arm.

She was astonished to see that he was weeping. He hadn't seemed the type who would ever allow such a weakness.

_Shit. How did I get into this? I barely know this guy!_

_~~he's hurting.~~_

_Yeah, well. Tough shit. Everybody hurts._

_~~so give him some tough love.~~_

"Bullshit," she snapped.

He blinked.

"Bull fucking shit. What, did you stab all these people, kill them yourself?" She was getting royally pissed.

He mumbled, "Well, actually, yes, two of them..."

That stopped her for a second. She opened her mouth, started to speak, closed it, then tried again. "Okay. Well, those two I'll grant you, they're your fault."

"Muchas gracias, señorita," he muttered, mouth twitching in a wry smile.

"All the others. Did you force them to do whatever it was that got them killed?"

"Well...no."

"Uh-huh. And this friend of yours, did you force him to deal with this angel?"

"Well, no...in fact, I killed my two friends--well, one friend, one frenemy--trying to stop him." He had turned on his side, up on his elbow, and was frowning at her, fully engaged in the conversation.

She glared at him. "Any of these people under some kind of magic compulsion or spell?"

"No, but--but--none of them would have been in those situations--" he stammered.

"Oh, spare me the breast-beating and guilt," she sneered. She was working herself into a full-blown rant. "What you're doing is ignoring the fact that all these people had a _choice_. Any one of them could have said, 'no fucking way!' and moved on. You didn't put them in those situations, they did. Same with your friend who's chained up. When you go all angsty and guilt-ridden, you're taking away their agency, denying them the...the dignity of owning their choices. You're pretending to be the parent, turning them into children...um...metaphorically speaking. And y'know what it comes across like to a stranger? Like it's all you, you, you. Underneath it all, you're a control freak, just like Cr--" She stopped, bit her lip. "My friend," she finished awkwardly.

He stared at her. "Well. I guess you told me!"

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I don't know what got into me." She started idly tracing the patterns on the threadbare quilt with a finger.

He sat up, finished his beer, then laid back down. "Guess it's good advice. But. I still feel guilty. My...friend. I miss him. I'd do anything to get him out of this fucking mess. I want him free, back out, here by my side, hunting again." His voice was slurred and drowsy.

She puffed out a small laugh. "Hunh. That's how I feel. About _my_ friend."

He muttered something she couldn't make out in reply, then was quiet. A few minutes later, she started to say something, only to realize that he was softly snoring. His body was sprawled across the bottom third of the bed, making it impossible for her to get anywhere near comfortable. She folded her lips in frustration, then threw up her hands.

_Guess I'll just take a look at those files again, see what's pestering me...maybe try VATOCC too, while I'm at it._

_~~you could always just...y'know...wake him up...nicely...~~_

_Girl. Just quit it. I miss him, okay?_

She pulled the laptop toward herself, opened it up, sighed, and got back to work.


	18. Hey, Jealousy (Gin Blossoms)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reveals to Charlie and "Roberts" that Dani is a demon, and things go downhill from there.
> 
> Folks who have read the story on my tumblr will recognize this, but it has been reworked and placed in context...
> 
> * * *

Dani closed the laptop and slid off the bed, careful, again, not to disturb the sleeping Roberts. As she left the room, she patted the stack of printouts on the dresser, letting her hand linger on it for a moment.

_~~happy?~~_

_Very._

_~~will it work?~~_

_Should._

She padded into the kitchen and began quietly exploring. There was bacon, there were eggs; she found a griddle and fry pan and utensils, and began cooking. Three people, twelve to fifteen pieces of bacon, six eggs... She danced around the kitchen, singing some Queensryche.

***  
By the time the bacon was done, she was singing Van Halen. 

."...like I've told you before, before, before!" She lowered her voice to an ominous deepness, and began chanting, "Now I've been to the edge..."

Another voice interrupted, deep and rough: "...and there I stood and looked down..."

She looked over. It was Roberts. He strolled over to where the bacon was draining and grabbed a piece. She turned to him, pointing the spatula. "Y'know I've lost a lot of friends, baby..."

He smiled and sang back, "Got no time to mess around." She held the spatula like a microphone, dancing as he started strumming a mean air guitar, their voices joining in the next part. "So if you want it, you gotta _bleed_ for it, baby! You've got to, got to _bleed_ , baby!"

"Hey! I smell bacon! And hear singing! Are we about to go on a quest?" Charlie wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She grabbed some bacon, too.

Dani laughed wildly and twirled around with her arms up. "Maybe. Maybe not." She poured the eggs into the fry pan and started scrambling them, humming.

Roberts raised his eyebrows. "Damn. You're in a very good mood this morning."

"Oh, yes, I am, and do you know why--?" she caroled.

He was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of sails flapping in the wind, or a large fan unfurling. He looked into the living room, where the sound had come from.

"Cas!" He smiled broadly. Charlie twisted around, and called out, "Cas! You're here!" Dani glanced over to see an incredibly handsome black-haired man with dazzling blue eyes smiling at the two of them. 

The bottom dropped out of the morning for her.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

_~~what? what?!?~~_

_Oh shit. **ANGEL!**_

The angel stepped forward into the kitchen, saying something, she had no idea what. All she could focus on was wondering what the hell she was going to do now.

Roberts gestured at her, obviously introducing her. The angel looked over, and his face reflected sudden bewilderment.

"Dean. What are you doing with a demon cooking in your kitchen?" His voice was deep and rough, too.

_Shit. That's torn it!_

_~~dean? i thought his name was brian?~~_

Before she could make a move, Roberts had grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around, slamming her down against the kitchen table with a knife at her throat. The enamel fry pan she had been holding, filled with scrambled eggs, went flying, spewing eggs across the floor, walls, and kitchen counter.

She could hear Charlie saying, in a disappointed voice, "Demon? Dani's a demon?!?"

She eyed the knife, and the morning went from bad to worse: it was a demon knife. The kind that could _kill_ demons.

Roberts--Dean?--glared down at her. "What's your game, Dani?"

She was frightened, angry; she flashed her beetle-blacks in return. "No game," she croaked against the pressure of the arm holding her down. "I told you the truth. I'm an occult researcher, I've been trying to get the--"

"Truth! Demons lie," he interrupted, snarling.

"To be fair," the angel said judiciously, tilting his head to look at her, "they sometimes do tell the truth...if it's in their interest..."

Roberts--Dean?--considered this idea for a moment, then shook his head and said, "Nah." He sliced gently with the blade, and a trickle of blood slid down Dani's throat. The demon sputter that accompanied the cut made her shiver with fear. "What are you up to here, bitch?"

_~~dani. why aren't you zapping out?~~_

_Demon knife. Can't move, if I do it wrong, it'll slice us up good._

_~~How do we get out?~~_

_Don't know, don't know--oh. Wait._

"Bitch?!? Who're you calling a bitch?" She glared up at him, genuinely insulted. Then, with a sudden movement, she slammed her arms against the arm holding the blade, pushing it slightly away, and shouted wildly, "A little help would be appreciated here!" She hoped like hell that Crowley was back from Lucifer's latest demands, hoped like hell the bracelet charm worked. She didn't care if he was out of control; in fact, it might be a good thing.

"Who the hell are you expecting to answer?" "Dean" shoved her back against the table and resettled the blade under her chin.

There was the familiar, reassuring "poof!" of displaced air.

"Hello, boys." It was Crowley. The bracelet had worked.

_~~yeah, your hero. bah.~~_

He added, "...and girls."

His eyes glittered as he smiled gently at them all.

" _Crowley_?!?" Roberts--Dean--croaked, stunned.

"You're dead." The angel sounded almost accusing, as if he were personally offended at Crowley's sudden appearance.

"I killed you myself!" Roberts added. "First Blade? Twisting in your gut? Ring a bell?"

"Surprised, boys?" Crowley glanced down at his arm and dusted off an unnoticeable speck of dust. "Almost as surprised as I am to see you alive, Castiel, though I'd heard something recently..." He looked sourly at the angel. "But then, I suppose I shouldn't be--Beloved of God and all that rot, blah, blah, blah." He waved a dismissing hand. "How many resurrections is that now, Cas? Three?" he asked in a tone of mild curiosity.

_Castiel. Dean. First Blade. Oh, this is really deep shit, Innie-Me. No wonder he had a copy of the files..._

"Four, if you count being brought back to life when the Reaper killed me. I was human then, so I think it might not count, really." Castiel gazed off into space. "Maybe God was working through Gadreel, though. It's an interesting question..."

Everyone side-eyed the angel for the digression.

"It's...um...surprisingly good to see you two, even though Dean did, in fact, KILL ME--" Crowley roared "--during that dreadful melee. Yes, Dean, I do remember the First Blade...erm...twisting in my gut. Very unpleasant. As was the rest of that debacle back in May. What was it Metadouche kept saying...?"

_~~'metadouche'? who's that?~~_

_I think it's actually Metatron. Another angel. Later._

"'Everybody dies,'" Castiel quoted sardonically. His grim expression made it very clear what he thought of Metatron.

"'Metadouche'! Hah! Love it!" Dean grinned. Then he squinted suspiciously at Crowley. Dani tried to take advantage of his seeming distraction to wiggle free, but he tightened his hold on her without taking his eyes off of him.

"I can understand God bringing Cas back--he seems to make a habit of it, after all. But who the hell would want to bring _you_ back, Crowley?" asked Dean.

"Ah. Well." Crowley coughed, rubbed his nose, and winced dramatically. "It seems that Lucifer decided I might be...useful, so he brought me back. It's a step down, I admit. King of Hell to errand boy--how the mighty have fallen, etc. Quite a shame, really. But! Beggars can't be choosers. He has me by the short and curlies, the bastard. Bound like a frigging hellhound." He sighed. "Which reminds me..."

He cocked an eyebrow at Dean holding Dani down.

"Dean. Darling." he said gently. "Do me a favor. Let my...head research honcho...go."

Dean looked down at Dani, who smiled up at him hopefully. He shook her absently, like a dog with a chew toy, and looked back at Crowley. "Why the hell should I let your...spy...loose? So the two of you can go straight to Lucifer, tell him where we are?"

"Dean! Sweetie! I asked nicely!" Crowley sounded hurt. "Besides, we're not spying on you. I would _never_ rat you boys out to Lucifer. Scout's honor! I'm rooting for you! Given your track record, you might actually be able to do something, because everyone seems to underestimate you.

"But all this is besides the point. My Dani-girl has a totally different assignment, so...chop-chop! Let her loose and we'll be on our way. Out of your hair." He paused. "Second request, Dean."

There was a long, awkward silence. Crowley finally heaved an exasperated sigh. "Making me ask three times is just rude, Dean." He made a small gesture, and Dean was flung backwards against the kitchen wall. Dani straightened up from the table, brushed bits of egg off the flannel shirt and started towards Crowley, stepping carefully around egg on the floor.

" _You--!_ " Castiel made an abrupt, threatening movement towards Crowley, only to be stopped by another small gesture. "Ah ah ah, Cas!" Crowley sang out, raising his eyebrows and waggling a finger at the angel. "Be a good little angel, now!"

Dean pulled himself back up from his crumpled position on the floor, then froze with shock.

"Wait a minute..."

His voice was filled with awful realization. 

"Wait one damned minute..." He looked from Crowley to Dani, and croaked in horror, "I... _slept with_...a demon?! With your 'head research honcho'?" His hands put air quotes around the title. "Your spy?!?"

_Wait just a damned second...that really sounds...wrong..._

"Dammit, I'm not a spy!" she objected.

She could see it when Crowley stiffened.

Castiel glared at Dean. "You _slept_ with her?" There was an interesting undertone to the question. Dani would be interested to know what that was about, but things seemed to be sliding rapidly out of control here. People were-- _he_ was--getting the wrong idea--

Crowley turned to her, swept her from head to foot with suddenly hard eyes, taking in Roberts'--Dean's--flannel shirt, the bare legs, the tousled hair. He waited a beat. Then:

"My. What a truly...fetching...frock, Danielle," he said with a cold, even tone. She froze. It was a very unpleasant variation on what he had said weeks ago. And he had called her "Danielle", not "Dani-girl". She could hear the anger, betrayal in his voice.

_~~um...dani...this is turning ugly again...~~_

He reached out to grasp the open collar of the shirt, and gave a short, sharp yank to pull her close. He leaned his head in towards hers, burying his nose in her hair and taking a deep breath through it. Then he hissed softly into her ear, "I can smell Dean Winchester...all...over...you...pet. I _trusted_ you." He released her with an equally short, sharp push.

The worst was that, yes, he _would_ be able to smell Roberts--Dean. Dammit.

He raised his head, cupped her cheek with a gentle hand, and continued more loudly--almost as if he were performing on stage--"You do make a habit of wearing the shirts of men you've slept with, my darling little whore."

Dani flashed beetle-black at him, hissing a shocked, " _WHAT--?_ " She had known, with a sinking sense, where this was going. Now she was angry. Furious, in fact.

Dean, Charlie, and Castiel watched, mouths agape.

Crowley stepped back, and reached into his suit jacket to pull out an angel blade. She flinched, but he merely slid back the cuff of his left sleeve, slid the knife under the bracelet of her hair, and cut through it. He watched with thoughtful slit eyes as it fell to the floor.

"I won't be needing that any more, I think. Good luck with your...what was it? Ah, yes. Your 'amazing resource', pet." He slanted a glance towards Dean. Then he smiled toothily at the room at large, offered a cheery "Tootles!", waved, and vanished.

She stared at the spot he had been occupying, breathing heavily. She wished he were still standing there so she could throw something very heavy at him. Like the frying pan.

She started shouting: "Dairrich, tha bampot! You stupid, egotistical misogynist, with your bloody stupid seventeenth-century double-standards! I walk in on you with _three_ people in your bed, and it's, 'Oh, Dani, what do you expect?', but you merely _suspect_ I'm sleeping with someone else, and all bets are off?!? You bloody, control-freak bastard! I want to kick you in the balls! The worst of it is I _thought_ about it, dammit, and didn't! I don't want _him_!" 

Of course, her anger was wasted. She was shouting at an empty spot, not at the real target.

She whirled around to see three people staring at her with open mouths. Roberts--Dean, dammit! Dean bloody Winchester!--started to say something, then closed his mouth, wisely keeping silent.

***  
Dean stared at Lippmann--Dani. Demon Dani. He couldn't think of her as Lippmann after their chick-flick talk last night. She had stopped shouting, for the moment, but she was so full of anger that she seemed to have grown three times her size, like a furious cat. Her eyes were shiny black, reflecting the morning light coming in the window above the kitchen sink. Her teeth were bared, and he could hear growling, both human and demon style.

She stormed out of the kitchen, back to the bedrooms. He watched her go, then looked at Cas, at Charlie, both of whom were staring after her. He pointed to where Crowley--dammit! That slippery bastard was alive?!?--had stood, opened his mouth, closed it again, pointed after Dani, finally said, "Was that...was that a _lover's quarrel_?!?"

Charlie said, slowly, "Um...sure sounded like one." She blinked in astonishment.

Cas nodded. "I agree. From what I've learned of humans..."

Charlie added, "You don't get that angry with someone unless you're...um...emotionally involved." She stepped to the kitchen counter, grabbed some bacon, and said, slightly mournfully, "And here I thought we were going to go on a quest. I guess we won't find out what she was so hap--"

She was interrupted by Dani storming back into the kitchen, dressed and in her coat. She slammed the laptop down on the table. When Dean moved toward her, she made an abrupt sweeping gesture, flinging him back against the wall with her power. She was still growling, still black-eyed. He wouldn't swear to it, but he thought there were traces of tears on her face.

Neither Charlie nor Cas made a move. 

She banged a drawer open, pulled out two knives, stepped back to the table, and dramatically stabbed one of the knives through a slim set of papers.

"For your 'friend'," she snarled.

She dropped another set of papers onto the table, and stabbed through it, too, much harder. This time, the knife sank at least an inch into the surface of the table. "And this one is for that mother-fucking son of a bitch!" She stomped up to Dean, leaned in to his face, and hissed, "You make sure that bastard gets it. I'm not going to. He can rot, for all I care."

She whirled around and started out of the kitchen toward the door, but stopped when Charlie stepped in front of her.

" _What_?!?" she growled.

Charlie gulped, tucked her hair behind her ears nervously, then held out her hand. "Um. Give it to me, Dani."

"Give you _what_?!?"

Charlie stood her ground, looking Dani in the eyes. "I know what I'd do if I had the chance. Give me the flash drive. I know you've got one."

Dani glared at her, but made no threatening moves. She folded her lips, snorted, then reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a stick. "Here!" she gritted out, dropping it into Charlie's hand. She began to move forward again, but Charlie just stood there.

Charlie sighed. "The other one, too, Dani." She waited.

Dani's eyes switched back to human blue, and she snorted again, this time with amusement. "Damn." She fished in her other coat pocket, pulled out another stick. "Can't blame me for trying, Charlie," she said, a wry expression flickering across her face.

Charlie grinned. "Oh, no! Like I said, it's what I'd do! So. Those printouts--they're the unbinding spell?" Dean pulled himself away from the wall, suddenly alert. _That_ was what had put her in such a good mood! He moved to the table, pulled the knife out of the first stack, began eagerly scanning the text.

Dani nodded curtly. Charlie pulled her into a hug, fervently saying, " _Thank_ you, oh, thank you so much!"

Dani snorted again. "Girl. Stop making me like you."

Charlie released her. "Okay! You take care. Um...he'll settle down...?" She paused, then whispered, "You didn't, did you?"

"No!" Dani shouted, her eyes turning demon black again.

Charlie held her hands up apologetically. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

Dani stalked past her and out the door, slamming it behind her.

There was a long silence.

***  
Dani immediately flitted a mile-long hop, reappearing in the midst of forest. She stood there a moment regaining her breath, then dug in her jeans pocket, pulled out a third flash drive, and smiled crookedly. She rested a few minutes, then flitted again.


	19. Runaway (Bon Jovi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to contact Crowley to deliver his printout, and Dani runs away.
> 
> * * *

"When's the next full moon?" Dean asked, eating the last of the bacon, looking over the printout Dani had left them. Cas had kindly hoodooed the kitchen clean, so there were no more slimy half-cooked eggs to avoid, and the printouts were now egg-free.

Charlie looked up from her laptop. "Oh, c'mon, Dean, just google it."

He waved at her computer. "Hey. You've got that thing open already, you can google it easier than me..."

"The next full moon is on November 25th," Cas called out from the living area. "Why do you need to know?"

Dean tilted his chair back, hands behind his head. "The unbinding spell has to be done on a full moon. So how long is that?"

"Two weeks," Charlie muttered.

"Son of a bitch. That long?!?"

"Charlie is correct," Cas said, walking into the kitchen. He leaned against the room divider, arms folded, looked over at Dean.

"Damn! That gives Lucifer too much time to fuck with Sam some more, get another two or three Croatoan labs going. And what are we going to do while we're waiting? I want to get this done!" Dean tilted his chair forward, thumping it back on the floor, and slapped his hands on the kitchen table, shifting impatiently.

"If the spell specifies a full moon, it would be very unwise to do it at any other time. While a waxing moon is traditionally a time of growth, good omens--"

"Thank you for the mini-lecture on spellwork, Cas," Dean interrupted. He scowled. "Wasn't planning on trying it earlier, I'm familiar enough with the stuff to know if it says full moon, that's when you do it. I'm just...just..." He waved his hands wordlessly.

Charlie looked up and snickered quietly. "Moooooom, I'm _boooored_!"

"Well--but--dammit, what are we going to do for two weeks?!?" Dean stood up abruptly and began to pace the small kitchen.

Charlie closed her laptop and looked at him sternly. "Well. You _could_ be trying to deliver the printout Dani left for Crowley." She grabbed the knife holding the second set of papers and tried to pull it out, failed. She whacked it in irritation, and it made a deep twanging noise.

Dean ground his teeth. "I am _not_ an errand boy for demons!"

She leaned back in her chair, ran her fingers through her hair, tucked it behind her ears, and frowned at him.

"She found the unbinding spell for us, whether she's a demon or not. _And_ she didn't get her payment of pieces of the Men of Letters archive--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean interrupted. "She tried to _steal_ the whole damned thing!"

"That's beside the point, Dean! She asked you to deliver it--"

Dean snorted. "'Asked'. If by 'asked', you mean _demanded_ , while pretty much saying she didn't care..."

Charlie raised her voice. "The least we can do is deliver it, like she asked!"

Cas drew in a breath. "Dean. Charlie is right. You should try to contact Crowley."

Dean looked at both of them in disbelief. "And just why is this something _I_ have to do?" He stepped toward the table, folded his lips in exasperation, and tugged at the knife. Damn, she had jammed it in tight! He wiggled the knife back and forth, finally getting it to come loose. He grabbed the sheets of paper, folded them, and started rhythmically tapping them against his open hand.

"Crowley's _your_ friend, I just met him today," Charlie said.

"I might not call him your 'friend', exactly, but you _do_ have the closest relationship with him," Cas added, raising thoughtful eyebrows.

"What the hell! Guys, he thinks I fucked his girlfriend--researcher--whatever-the-hell she is to him! He's not going to talk to me!"

"Yeah, well, about that," Charlie added darkly. "You should straighten that thing out, too. For Dani."

He stared at her, his mouth open, shaking his head. "'For Dani'? Son of a bitch, Charlie, you're acting like she's your BFF or something."

She glared at him, folding her arms and lips mulishly. "I like her! And--and--she helped us! Fast! And look what it got her! It's not fair! You need to fix this!"

He turned to Cas. "Cas--?" he appealed. Cas shrugged, looked awkwardly at the ceiling, said nothing. "Awesome!" Dean snarled. He pulled out his phone, dialed "666", put it to his ear. "He's not answering," he said after a few moments.

"For crying out loud, Dean! Leave a message!" Charlie rolled her eyes. He was hurt. Charlie was rarely angry with him. He listened to Crowley's idiotic "Out buying souls!" message, and said, "Yo. Dude. Dani left something for you. Call me," and hung up.

He looked at the two of them. "There. Are you satisfied?"

Charlie snorted.

***  
Davis opened the door to the condo, walked in, and placed the undelivered bag of dinner for Miss Dani on the entry table. He carefully dusted the melting sleet from his wool coat, hung it up in the spacious coat closet, and switched into his house shoes. Then he looked at the bag with worried eyes, picked it back up and entered the main hallway, heading for the kitchen. She still wasn't home. He hoped that nothing untoward had happened.

"Coat, Davis. I'm going out." Davis turned to see Crowley standing in the dining room. 

"Yes, sir." He put the bag down, and headed back to the entryway, Crowley following.

"If I may, sir," he said deferentially as he pulled his coat from its hanger. "Have you heard from Miss Dani? She has not been home for the past few days when I tried to deliver her dinner."

"Really." Crowley sounded bored. "I have no idea." Davis held the coat for him, then held out a scarf.

"It's just that I am concerned, sir."

"Haven't a clue, Davis." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a peppermint, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. "You can stop delivering the dinners. Also, collect the boxes of archive information from her house, bring them here," he drawled. 

"Yes, sir."

He reached into his pocket again, pulled out a business card, flicked it over to Davis. "Contact them. There's a boy, eighteen or so. Tall, slender, black hair, tan. Very pretty. He's been here before. Have him here tonight."

Davis took the card, looked down at it. Dion's. He sighed very, very quietly, hardly a breath, and turned it over in his hand a few times, saying nothing.

"You have something you want to say, Davis?" Crowley's eyes were narrowed and cold, and a small red spark flared.

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so." He smiled unpleasantly. "Door, Davis," he added impatiently.

"Yes, sir." He opened the door and Crowley swept out. He closed it behind him, then leaned his forehead on the door, his shoulders slumping. This was bad. The last time Crowley had been this consistently bad tempered was after that unfortunate affair with Lady Naomi, centuries ago.

***  
He was tidying up the kitchen late in the evening when the house phone rang.

"Redmond residence, Davis speaking."

"Davis!"

He straightened up. "Miss Dani! Where are you? I have been worried."

"Davis, I need help!" She sounded almost panicked. His eyebrows twitched in a faint frown.

"I will be there right away--you are at your home, I presume?"

"Yes, yes, just please come quick!"

She hung up. He put the phone down slowly, folded his lips, then reluctantly walked to the bedroom suite. He knocked and opened the door, stepped in, discreetly looking at nothing.

"Sir. If there's nothing else you need tonight...? I need to to run an errand."

"Nothing." He could hear the young man sobbing softly.

"Yes, sir. Goodnight."

"Get out, Davis," came the snarl.

He felt a little sorry for the boy as he left.

When he buzzed Miss Dani's doorbell, the answering buzz to let him in came right away. As he walked down the hall to her door, he could see she had already opened it and was waiting for him.

She grabbed him, dragged him in, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, panting. "Thank God you're here!" she gasped. 

"Now, Miss Dani, what is--" He took off his gloves and turned to her, taking his coat off, only to stop abruptly, blinking in surprise.

"Who _are_ you? And what have you done with Miss Dani?!?"

She stepped forward, grabbed the front of his jacket and shook him. He automatically covered her hands with his in a calming gesture.

"That's the problem, Davis! I don't know where she is!" the familiar voice wailed. "She--she--smoked out? She got us back here, it took a whole day. And then she said she needed to be alone, and she vomited herself out, and, and--here I am! All alone! She's been gone _two days_! She didn't say where she was going, and you _have_ to find her!" She emphasized the last words by shaking him again.

He blinked. He really felt like he needed to sit down.

"This is...most unorthodox," he said faintly.

***

"Call him again." Charlie's voice was stern.

"Charlie, I've called and left messages six times already!" Dean leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed his forehead, pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going stir-crazy with nothing to do, and her nagging at him wasn't helping. He turned, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a beer. "I've texted him, too. Multiple times. What more do you want?" He popped the cap off and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can.

Charlie waved her hands in frustrated circles. "I don't know! He has to answer some time, doesn't he?"

Cas looked up from the laptop, where he was watching a "Phineas and Ferb" episode. "Maybe he's just not that into you?"

Dean stared at him. Charlie turned around and stared at him. He looked back, eyes innocent.

"Did you just make a joke?" Charlie asked, awestruck.

Cas smiled happily.

"Dude." Dean eyed Cas suspiciously, his voice disapproving. 

"More seriously: perhaps we could call Ms. Lippmann and see if she has any ideas either of how to contact him or where to find him."

Charlie looked at Dean. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's assuming she wants to. Well. I'll give it a try tomorrow."

"Why not now?" Charlie protested.

"Kiddo. It's late. Civilians do things like, oh, I don't know, go to bed early? Tomorrow," he finished firmly.

***  
Davis looked down at his folded hands on the kitchen island. He was having difficulty processing this whole situation. "So. Correct me if I am misunderstanding. You--a human--are asking me to locate Miss Dani--a demon who just happened to have possessed you for three years."

She nodded enthusiastically.

"I don't quite understand _why_ ," he said almost plaintively. 

She tossed her head. "That pig sonuvabitch walked out on her." He mouthed the words, puzzled. "Tch! Your employer. Crowley. The bastard. D'you know he _raped_ her?!?" He closed his eyes in pain. "And she's so wrapped up in him that she didn't kick him to the curb! It's like he's--he's hypnotized her. And then that creepy scumbag dumps her! Calls her a _whore_ in front of a bunch of people she liked. Because he simply _thought_ she had slept with that Winchester dude!"

He held up a hand, stopping her, shaking his head in bewilderment. "'Winchester dude'?"

She squinted at him. "Yeah. Dean? Called himself Brian Roberts."

He sank his head onto his folded hands. Worse and worse.

"What?"

He sighed, lifted his head again and looked at her. "Dean Winchester is the closest thing he has to a friend."

She stared at him, then barked out a laugh. "Hah! Serves him right, the creep!" She turned to open the pantry door, rummaged around, and emerged with a bag of cookies. She pulled one out, took a bite, and closed her eyes in delight. "Oh. My. God. These taste awesome!"

She ate the rest of the cookie with ecstasy; he found her blatant sensual enjoyment very uncomfortable. He was still puzzled. "None of this explains why you want me to find her..."

She looked down at the bag of cookies, frowned, ran her hand through her hair. He winced: that little series of actions reminded him quite a bit of Miss Dani.

"Yeah. Well." She looked back up at him. "Um. I miss her." She flushed, bit her lip. "I know it's weird. She's been in me for three years. We...talk. She's...okay." She started fiddling with the bag, carefully tearing a series of small rips in the edge of the opening. "I'm just a small time fashion designer. Like, bottom of the rung and not likely to go anywhere. My life was...pretty ordinary. And then I got jumped. And she started snarking at me. And...and we had adventures. Um. Lots of good sex. Killing people. Doing deals. I...learned a lot about a lot of stuff. Like spells." She sounded miserable, confused, and somewhat ashamed. "I didn't know there was all this stuff underneath my--my--everyday reality." She tossed the bag onto the counter. "Anyway. Then she got mixed up with your precious fucking Crowley. And now she's God knows where, doing God knows what, and hurting. I don't have a life of my own anymore, y'know? Shot to hell. She's what I've got. So I thought you might have some ideas..."

He looked back down at his hands, frowning.

"None. I have no ideas, Miss--". He paused, wondering what to call her.

Her lips twisted in a wry expression. "Danielle Lippmann, at your service. She took my name, too. Call me Danielle. Or Innie-Me."

He sighed, straightened up. "No ideas, Miss Danielle."

They were silent for a few moments, then Innie-Me/Danielle turned away, waving a hand in a resigned gesture. "Great, just--"

She was interrupted by a sound at the door to her condo. It sounded like someone trying the lock. They both looked that way, then Innie-Me/Danielle turned her head questioningly to Davis. He held up a cautioning hand, stood up, moved quietly out of the kitchen, toward the door. She followed.

The lock rattled. They heard a mumbled curse, then the lock turned, the doorknob turned, the door opened. A tall man with honey-blond hair falling over his forehead pushed it open, staggered into the door jamb, then stepped in.

"Miss Dani--?!?" Davis said, astonished. Innie-Me/Danielle stood on her tiptoes, peered over his shoulder, eyes wide.

"That's Dani--?!?"

The man swayed on his feet, smiled sardonically, and said, "Hey, Davis, Innie-Me. Maybe you should call me Dan? Innie-Me, gimme your phone."

***  
Her phone was ringing. Charlie muttered, groaned, dug her head under her pillow, trying to ignore it. It stopped, and she began to fall back asleep again, only to have it start ringing again. She reached around, grabbed an extra pillow, and threw it randomly, hoping it would hit the annoying thing, stop it. The ringing stopped again. A minute later, it started ringing again.

"All right, all right, all right, already!" She sat up, yawned, scrubbed her face with her hands, and started searching for the phone in the dark. Her fumbling hands knocked her iPad off the bedside table. "Damn!"

The phone stopped ringing.

She was awake now, and grumpy. She felt around the base of the table lamp, found the switch, and turned it on.

The phone rang again.

This time, she could see it, on the back corner of the table. She grabbed it, punched "answer", and said, not as brightly as normal, "Hello?"

A man's voice replied. "Hey. Charlie."

She perched on the edge of her bed, yawning again. "Yes, this is Charlie. Who's this? Do I know you? Why are you calling at--" She glanced at the old-fashioned clock, sleepily translating analog to digital. "--two in the morning?"

The man chuckled. "'S me, Charlie. Dani. Or maybe Dan. Dunno. I need to talk to you."

She straightened up, suddenly wide awake. "Dani?!? Why do you sound like a guy?"

"Hah. New meat suit. It's temporary. Wanted to be a guy and kick some ass and have sex with girls for a while. I'm kinda drunk. Had to borrow Innie-Me's phone."

Charlie blinked. "Who's Innie-Me? What--? New meat suit? Dani, what's going on?"

"So, Charlie. Look. Just wanted to know if you guys have gotten that printout to...him."

Charlie chewed her lip. "No. Dean's tried calling him and texted him, and he's not answering."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Oh. He needs it by the full moon. Not that I give a damn." The man's voice was hard, angry. Charlie rolled her eyes.

" _Right_. That's why you're drunk calling me at 2 a.m. And why you want him to get the spell in time."

There was a longer pause.

"Nobody likes a smartass, you know that, right?"

She laughed. "Gotcha! Are you okay? We need to get you some files from the Men of Letters archive to pay you off! Dean's going crazy waiting for the full moon, and we have to live with it, ugh!"

The man puffed out a small laugh. "Charlie. Girl. You know I had a third flash drive, don't you?"

" _What_?!? Oh, you _stinker_! I should have known, darn it! Oh, well... But, really, are you okay? You were so angry when you left! I was scared standing up to you, y'know, even though you're smaller than me! You were acting like--like an Orc!"

The man mumbled, "Um. Sorry. I was being...unreasonable; you guys really had nothing to do with it, shouldn't have taken it out on you." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "So he's ignoring Rober--Dean. How do we get that info to him?"

She could hear voices in the background, one of which sounded like Dani--original Dani. New Dani's voice was muffled. "Hey! Guys! Keep it down!--What? What?" His voice got louder. "Hey. Charlie. Davis might have an idea, hold on."

"Davis? Who's that?" But new Dani either ignored her or couldn't hear her.

Then he started talking again. "Okay. Look. Davis says Crowley has a regular meet-up with someone at a bar, and the next one is tomorrow night..."

By the end of the phone call, they had a plan.

***  
Dani--Dan--handed the phone back to Innie-Me/Danielle. He stood there swaying for a moment, then reached out, pulled her close, slid a hand down her cheek. "You're actually pretty cute, Innie-Me," he said. He bent down to kiss her, but she jerked her head away and stepped back.

"Ew. Girl! Dude! Don't do that! It's like--like--frenching your sister--brother--whatever!" she ended in confusion.

He grinned. "Well, yeah, it is, kinda. Just wanted to give it a try."

"I don't want to have sex with you, you idiot!" she snapped. "I miss you. I want you _back_. Inside. I'm...lonely." Her voice trailed off. She frowned down at the floor.

He looked down at the floor, too. "Yeah. I'm kinda lonely, too. I've gotten used to having you nattering at me all the time. This guy...what a jerk. And boring. I have absolutely no interest in talking to him. I've got him pushed way down."

There was an awkward silence.

Davis gave a small cough. "Ahem. If I might suggest...you could knock him out, smoke out and back into Miss Danielle, and I could...dump him somewhere. He would wake up, think his drink was spiked, and that would be the end of it. Or we could always kill him. Whichever you prefer."

They looked at him. He looked blandly back, eyebrows raised.

Danielle/Innie-Me muttered, "So. If you're all done with your vacation or tantrum or whatever it was..."

In answer, he slumped to the floor. Smoke poured out of his mouth and back toward Danielle/Innie-Me, slid down her waiting throat. Davis leaned over the unconscious man, waved a hand, and he disappeared. He straightened up.

"Now, I believe I really should be going, Miss Dani, Miss Danielle." He picked up his coat, shook it out, and slipped it on. He nodded, paused, and said, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Danielle. Though I still find this...relationship...most unorthodox." He walked to the door, dipped his head in a stiff goodbye, and left.

_~~you know you can have fights and have sex with women in this body just fine...~~_

_It's not quite the same._

_~~if you want to run away again, at least give me some warning next time.~~_

_Will do._

_~~and you know that getting that unbinding spell to the sonuvabitch doesn't mean a goddamn thing is going to change.~~_

_Yes, I know. Quit bitching._

_~~just let me to the surface every now and then so I can eat some more cookies. those things were orgasmic.~~_


	20. The Crystal Ship (The Doors)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam recuperates from drinking Crowley's blood; Crowley confronts Davis with suspicions of betrayal; Dean delivers the unbinding spell to Crowley.
> 
> A/N: Sam's not disgusted by the thought of homosexual sex, he's disgusted by the thought of nonconsensual homosexual sex with someone he despises. Just thought I'd make that perfectly clear...
> 
> * * *

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Even with his eyes closed, he could "see" using the other-sight. For instance, there was a line of energy running along the baseboard then sending up a smaller line to where he knew there was an outlet. He had to figure out a way to turn the other-sight off.

Half of the other day was a blur to him. The part _after_ he drank Crowley's blood. He dimly remembered telling him about the digital copies. He definitely remembered Crowley tangling his hands in his hair, touching his lips the way a lover would--

He got up, staggered to the room sink, and threw up. He clutched the edge of the sink desperately, head down, and heaved a few more times. He shuddered. Dear God, what had happened after that? Nothing. Surely. He'd remember if the bastard had gone any further. Wouldn't he? His skin crawled at the very idea. God, how he _loathed_ that slimy demon! Everything he touched became twisted, everything he did had layers of reasons. You couldn't ever, _ever_ trust him. Especially when he pretended he was doing you a favor. Like, say, offering to donate demon blood. The day someone (oh, please, let him be the one!) sank an angel or demon blade into that bastard for good would be a day to celebrate.

Except...

There was always an "except" when it came to Crowley. "Except" he was useful. "Except" it was better to have a known factor in charge of Hell. "Except" he was better than Lucifer.

Sam splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth out multiple times, brushed his teeth to get rid of the lingering bad taste. Then he headed to the kitchen. He was ravenous.

He pulled open the refrigerator to grab makings for a green smoothie, and there, sitting at the front of the top shelf, was a thermos.

_"I took the liberty of filling a thermos for you."_

Sam snarled, grabbed the thermos, and stepped over to the sink. He opened it, tilted it...

...and stopped.

He couldn't do it, couldn't turn it upright, send the demon blood down the drain. Couldn't make himself. The thermos shook in his hand. Finally, snarling again, he slammed it down on the drain board. A little bit of cold blood sloshed over the rim, and before he could stop himself, he had used his fingertip to clean the blood from the drain board, and the fingertip was in his mouth. He could feel a slight tingle as his mouth absorbed it.

Gritting his teeth, he recapped the thermos, carried it like it held poison, placed it back on the shelf in the fridge. He wouldn't use it. No. It was just there for insurance, in case he couldn't score a "live" demon.

Part of his mind, way down inside, howled with laughter.

He ignored it, and went back to making his smoothie and oatmeal.

***  
The boy hadn't been physically harmed; at least, there had been no marks that Davis could see. But his lips had trembled, and his eyes had been distant, unfocused, filled with despair. His haughty confidence had vanished. Likely, Crowley had skinned him with words, digging deep into his emotional core. Davis had delivered him to the Dion's limo that morning thinking that he wouldn't be much use to Dion after that.

Crowley had decided on the wool suit with the barely visible dark gray pinstriping for his regular appointment. Davis dug out a trio of ties from the tie drawer, draped them carefully over his arm. He hoped that Miss Dani's plan would work. In this mood, Crowley might just kill the Winchester boy first, without thought. Davis didn't think he would, though; he had had a strange fondness for Dean Winchester from the beginning. Less so for Sam Winchester, but he delighted in teasing that one to the point of wanting to kill him. Davis folded his lips firmly. It was imperative that Crowley get that unbinding spell.

He stepped out of the paneled closet, presenting his arm. "Your tie selection, sir."

Crowley frowned, looking over the three ties, then picked out the black one with red paisleys. "Red smoke, heh," he muttered in amusement. Davis had no idea what the reference meant.

Crowley moved to stand in front of the mirror, flipped the tie around his neck, began tying it. "So. Davis."

"Yes, sir?"

"Just how long have you been working for me?" he asked idly, pulling the knot tight and arranging the ends neatly.

Davis pursed his lips, thinking. "I believe it has been two hundred and sixty seven years, sir. Off and on."

"Really? That long? My, how time flies when you're having fun," he smirked. He slanted his eyes toward Davis. "When you've been around someone that long, you get to know them, eh?"

"Yes, sir," Davis murmured absently, turning back to the closet to put away the unused ties. Without warning, Crowley's hand seized his shoulder, spun him around, slammed him into the closet door and held him there like a bar of steel across his throat. He reached into his suit jacket for his angel blade and pointed its tip very close to Davis's eye.

"Sir!" Davis gasped, paling.

Crowley bared his teeth. "Time for a wee chat. Y'see, Davis, I seem to have foolishly allowed myself to trust a very few special people. Which, as it turns out, was a mistake. Of course. Now. I know you, darling. I know when you're hiding something, have something on your mind. So..." The tip of the blade inched closer to Davis's eye. "Care to share with the class?"

Davis thought fast.

"Miss Dani, sir."

Crowley dipped the blade to slide across Davis's cheek, leaving a thin line of blood and producing a light sputtering sound as it also sliced into Davis's demon essence. Davis flinched.

"And what about...Ms. Lippmann?" He asked through his clenched teeth.

"She's returned, sir. And apparently..." Davis bit his lip, looked to his side. "Well, sir. I am somewhat disappointed. It appears that Miss Dani has a slightly...scandalous...relationship with her vessel."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Do go on," he purred, pressing a little bit harder with the blade.

"She...um...talks to it. They are...friends. Miss Dani smoked out after returning, and the vessel actually called me, begged me to find her, get her back! It was most odd. Sir. It has left me a tad shaken." All of which, Davis thought, was totally, absolutely true. The truth was always good in a situation like this.

Crowley eyed him suspiciously for a few wordless moments. "You're a prude, Davis," he finally snorted. He lowered the blade, flipped it a few times, then returned it to the sheath in his suit jacket.

"Sir!" Davis protested.

"A prude," he repeated. "Don't betray me, kitten," he added sweetly, patting his cheek. "If you do, it'll be my pleasure to rip your heart out through your throat, and take a very long time doing it." He stepped back, removing his arm from Davis's throat.

"Of course not, sir!" Davis huffed, shrugging his jacket back into place. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"And don't let your issues with Ms. Lippmann intrude upon your duties."

"No, sir."

Crowley tugged his cuffs back down, brushed his sleeve, and added, "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Yes, sir."

He vanished. Davis sagged in relief. That had been very, very close.

***  
Dean leaned against Baby in the dark parking lot, arms folded, watching the door of the roadhouse. It was a small restaurant-slash-bar, halfway between the city and the Adirondacks, where their cabin was. He had driven a couple of hours to get here. The man Crowley apparently had a regular meet-up with had gone into the bar about an hour ago; according to the info from Davis, after the meeting Crowley would hang out and have a couple of drinks before returning home. So he was just waiting until the guy left.

He straightened up. The bar door had opened, and the guy was coming out, shrugging into a winter jacket. Dean sauntered to the door, nodding to the guy as he passed.

He stepped into the warmth and let the door fall shut behind him. He stood there for a moment, scanning, until he located Crowley sitting at the bar, black overcoat slung across the bar beside him. He walked up behind him, quietly, then stopped a few feet away when Crowley's eyes met his in the mirror behind the bar.

Crowley stiffened, waited a few beats, then slid around on the bar stool to face him.

He raised his glass, took a sip, and looked at Dean with a studiously neutral expression. "Squirrel." His tone was flat and even, slightly edged, and his eyes glittered. There was an underlying hostility that hadn't been there for years, now that Dean thought about it. Like...back when he tried to blackmail them into giving back the Demon Tablet by killing, one by one, the people they had saved over the years. Dean stopped for a moment, chilled, then plunged right in.

"Dude. Look. I didn't sleep with her, sleep with her." Crowley raised one lazy, bored eyebrow. He continued, awkwardly, "I got drunk, sobbed on her shoulder like a baby about Sam, and fell asleep. _That_ kind of slept with her."

"Mmm-hmmm. Really. Fascinating. I've seen this telenovela before, I think, and it bored me the first time," Crowley drawled acidly, finishing his scotch and placing the glass on the bar with a thump. He got up, shrugged into his black overcoat, shot his cuffs, brushed dust off his upper arm, and dropped a twenty on the bar. "Keep the change, darling," he said, nodding to the bartender. Then he brushed by Dean, jostling him.

Dean grabbed his arm. "Crowley. Listen to me."

Crowley's hand fastened like steel on Dean's, and slowly removed it. "Hands to yourself, Squirrel," he snarled. His eyes flared smoky, dangerous red.

Dean took a step back, hands raised placatingly. "Whoa. Whoa, man. Just hold on a minute. I'm going to reach, reeeeeal slowly, into my jacket for something." He fumbled in the inside of his jacket for the printout Dani had left stabbed in the kitchen table. He eased it out, left hand still raised. Crowley's eyes followed his every movement; he was poised, ready for any wrong move on Dean's part.

Dean dropped the folded printout on the bar. "There. Yours. Dani wanted you to have it. I've passed it on, done her favor, and now I'm out of here." He backed away slowly, eyes locked on Crowley's. When he made it ten feet away and Crowley hadn't moved, he lowered his hands, turned around and strode out of the bar.

"Holy _shit_ ," he muttered to himself as he walked to the car. He rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and blew out a deep breath. "Just...holy _shit_."

***  
Crowley slowly sat back down on the bar stool, signaled for another scotch. He eyed the printout narrowly while waiting for his drink. When the bartender placed it before him, he sipped some and then walked the folded papers closer with his fingertips. He flicked them open, glanced down, skimming the words. Then he snarled wordlessly, crushed them in his hand, and disappeared.

***  
Sam had spent the day going through the boxes and files in the bunker. He deliberately ignored the ones they had already digitized; he suspected Crowley would tell Dean about the computerized copies, so it was best he concentrated on the information that was no longer available except in his memory.

It was slow, hard work. Occasionally he would open a box to find all the files unlabeled, filled with old, blank papers. These must be boxes he had never really looked at, aside from opening them and glancing in. But anything he had a memory of he needed to look through, see if there was any information about this particular binding spell.

He didn't think about the wild rush he had gotten from drinking Crowley's blood.

At least, he pretended not to, just doggedly pulled out boxes and went through the notes various Men of Letters had made.

Finally, exhausted, head aching from the research, he stopped, stood up, stretched. Food. That was a good idea. Then maybe try to contact Dean again, using the angel sigil. Then sleep.

He walked into the kitchen, started pulling together sandwich makings.

He found himself in front of the open refrigerator door, staring at the thermos of blood.

"No. I am not going to do this," he said out loud to the empty bunker.

His hand reached in, grasped the thermos, pulled it out. He stepped to the sink, grabbed a glass, poured some in, his hand shaking.

"No. Damn it, _no_!"

He lifted the glass and chugged. He dropped the glass, and it fell on its side on the drainboard and rolled toward the sink, then fell in with a clatter. The rush hit him fast, so lovely, so hot and wild, he bent over, hands holding the rim of the sink so tightly his knuckles turned white. He fell to his knees, his forehead resting against the cupboard, arms rising above his head, and drew in a sobbing breath.

_"It's my grade-A demon blood. Much higher octane than you're used to. Funny how I forgot to mention that..."_

He now remembered the sly smile that had accompanied those words.

Damn. Detest him though he did, he had to admire the quick thinking, the multiple layers behind the offer of demon blood. Distract him? Check. Stop him from trying to kill him? Check. Make him feel indebted? Check. "Help" him? Check.

Load him up with high-grade demon blood? Get him even more hooked? Check and mate.

_"...Funny how I forgot to mention that..."_

Yeah. "Funny".


	21. Love Bites (Def Leppard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley tells Dean there is an insurmountable problem with the unbinding spell; Crowley and Dani confront each other.
> 
> * * *

"What fucking use is this to me?"

Dean slammed on the brakes and the car squealed to a stop.

"Dude!" He threw the car into park, and slewed himself around to look at Crowley. Out on the dark two-lane country highway, away from the streetlights, he was just a shadow in the passenger seat, red pinpricks flickering where his eyes should be. "What the hell--!"

"I said, what fucking use is this to me?" Crowley's voice was harsh.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "Look, all I know is Dani wanted you to have it, okay?"

Crowley tossed the crumpled papers at him with a contemptuous snort. Dean automatically raised a hand to catch them before they hit him in the face. He smoothed them out, reached up to turn the driver's light on, and looked down at them.

"So. What?" he asked.

"It's an unbinding spell. _The_ unbinding spell. To unbind me. Remember? 'Bound like a frigging hellhound'? Third ingredient. Read it."

Dean ran his eyes down the page. He recognized it; it was a duplicate of the spell Dani had left them for Sam. He skipped the summary, went right to the ingredients, read the third one and couldn't help his snort of laughter. "Oh. Right. That."

Crowley growled.

"The blood from someone who loves you thing. Right." He snickered again.

"Not funny, Dean. Not funny at all. What use is the unbinding spell if I can't get the ingredients?"

Dean just looked at him.

"What?" Crowley snarled, annoyed.

"Seriously?" Dean blinked.

"What, 'seriously'? You have any bright ideas? I don't." The red spark faded from his eyes, and he just looked grim and defeated in the dim light.

"You really don't know?" Dean was flabbergasted. 

"Don't know what? Enlighten me, Squirrel." This was almost a more normal light sarcasm, which was actually a relief. Dean didn't feel the need to be prepared to grab the angel blade, defend his life, any more. But, still. This maybe warranted a little caution on his part.

"Um, Dani...?" he prompted.

Crowley stiffened. "Dani what?" He asked, voice hard again.

_Touchy, touchy! Why the hell am I giving the former King of Hell love advice? What am I, Dr. Phil? First marriage counseling for witches, then mother issues, now advice for lovelorn demons...should start a damned supernatural advice column..._

"You know she's totally infatuated with you, right?" Silence from the passenger seat. "Like enough so that even _Cas_ noticed? Like, we all just stood around after you...um...left, and asked if what we saw was a lover's quarrel?" Crowley was still silent. Dean shook his head. "Man. I didn't think it was possible. You even have _me_ beat when it comes to low self-esteem. I mean, it's not what _I'd_ call love, exactly, but you can be damned sure there's _something_ there."

Crowley was still silent. Finally he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Right. Maybe that _was_ true. But it's no good to me now, not after..." He stopped and turned his head away, looked out the passenger window, idly tapping his knuckles against the glass.

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "After you just about called her a skanky slut in front of three other people, people who knew her, and stormed out? Yeah, real smooth move there, Romeo."

"You're not helping, y'know," Crowley snapped.

"Oh, man, I'm enjoying this. So much. Watching you squirm? About a woman?!? Dude. It's hilarious. Just friggin' hilarious. I didn't know you had it in you!" Dean snickered again.

"If you think I'm going to take advice from someone who has _your_ track record with long-term relationships, when everyone who knows you, knows who you really want--" Crowley had been revving up for a good rant, but stopped abruptly. "Yes. Well. Ahem. Tact: I has it. Occasionally."

Dean opened his mouth, started to say something, closed it again. There was a long silence.

_God. That obvious, am I?_

"My. This is awkward," Crowley smirked. This time it was Dean who growled. 

After another long silence: "So. You say my Dani-girl did _not_ sleep with you..." Crowley trailed off stiffly.

"You could have asked _her_." Dean looked out the window. "Y'know, communication? All that sloppy Today Show relationship crap?"

"Darling. Your look of abject horror was enough for me. So what did you do?"

"Told you. Cried on her. Real chick flick stuff. Dude, don't make me give details, it's embarrassing. I did _not_ screw her, okay? Jeez. Give it a rest." Dean flushed. He wasn't going to go into it with Crowley; the thought of getting mushy about Sam to him gave him the willies. He'd find some way to use it against them when they were least expecting it.

"Well, then. I need to...make amends, it seems. How...awkward. Hit me with your best shot. Advice. I'm all ears." Crowley cupped a hand behind the ear closest to Dean. "Drop your pearls of wisdom."

"Y'know, Crowley, you're a devious, slimy, manipulative son of a bitch," Dean started.

"Oooh, flattery! You're making my heart go all pitty-pat! I love you too, Squirrel." Crowley grinned and laid his hand over the object in question.

"Stuff it. So are you wanting Dani back for Dani, or for her blood?" Dean snapped.

Crowley blinked. "Why, for both. Of course. What a silly question, darling."

Dean closed his own eyes and ground his teeth together. He had forgotten just how obnoxious Crowley could be when he was in a good mood.

"Yeah, well. My advice? Grovel."

"I don't do groveling," he mused aloud.

"That's because you're an egotistical maniac who can't stop talking, you douche!" Dean drew a frustrated breath and continued. "Flowers. Chocolate. Knowing Dani, some nice little piece of super-duper occult knowledge. Take her out to dinner. Romance her." He gave Crowley a skeptical look. "You _do_ know how to do romance, right?"

He sniffed, offended. "Of course I do. King of the Crossroads, remember?" He waved his fingers in the air. "Seduction and romance are in my veins. Knowing what makes people tick. I can tell you right now that flowers and chocolate do _not_ make Dani tick. This I know for a fact. She'd just toss them in the garbage." There was something in his voice that made Dean hesitate momentarily.

Then he just rolled his eyes. "Riiiiight. So do your thing with Dani, whatever it is for her. Just a word of warning, though: she was in a totally shitty mood the last time I saw her."

"Of course," Crowley said. He looked out the window again. "She does have a bit of a temper."

"Hunh. The only time I saw her have a bit of a temper was around you," Dean said. Crowley opened his mouth to say something, closed it with a click, and frowned. "Well, and when she gave me a piece of her mind about me feeling guilty. Anyway. Now get out of my car. I need to get back to the cabin."

Crowley smiled at him toothily. "My pleasure, as always. Adios for now, Squirrel." He vanished. Dean growled again, put the car into gear, pulled back onto the pavement, and drove off.

***  
Dani wandered her condo restlessly. Not having something, some job to do, made her antsy. She had called back a couple of the folks who she had brushed off previously, let them know that it appeared her client on retainer had dropped out, and she was now free for their research problems. So she might have some jobs to do in the future.

In the meantime, though...

Davis had shown up to remove the boxes containing the remnants of Hell's occult archive. He had been very apologetic, practically falling over himself to explain that it was certainly not his idea, that he had been ordered to do it. He had started to talk about Crowley's continuing bad temper to her, but had stopped when she growled and flashed black. She didn't want to hear it.

_~~good...~~_

She settled on the sofa, opened her laptop, plugged in the flash drive. At least she had this treasure trove to organize; it would be priceless help in future problem solving.

She was deep in the midst of tagging files and making entries in her database when the sofa began to shake. Then the coffee table. Then the whole room.

_~~what the hell--?!? earthquake? here in new york?!?"~~_

Dani frowned.

_No. From what I've heard, it seems that someone is summoning me. I've never had someone summon me before._

It was obscurely flattering. Demons got summoned by name, except for crossroads demons (they were assigned specific crossroads to cover, and when someone did the summoning there, it was the assigned demon who appeared). That meant that someone wanted her, in particular.

_~~so what happens?~~_

_Well, I end up being--_

Her surroundings changed abruptly.

_\--yanked to whoever is summoning me. Like this._

She looked around. Luxurious dark wood paneling gleamed on the walls, burgundy velvet drapes covered windows, Persian carpet beneath her feet, spell markings and a smoking silver bowl at her feet--oh, she knew where she was. Dammit. She pulled herself together to do an immediate flit, then staggered, off balance, when it didn't work. She tried again, and the same thing happened.

_~~what's wrong? no flitting?~~_

_Can't. Don't know why._

She whirled around, looking for the person who must be there. There: in front of a window, drapes pulled, looking out, hands clasped behind his back.

_~~oh, look. the slimy bastard himself.~~_

_Innie-Me. Just stop. Name-calling is immature._

"You could have just called."

He turned around, looked at her, raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Would you have answered?"

She bit her lip and glared down at the floor.

"No."

He waved a hand airily. "Well, then."

"What do you want? And why can't I flit out?"

"Demon trap, darling. Under the carpet."

"Oh." She transferred her glare to him, folded her lips and arms, and stood there, saying nothing.

In return, he folded his arms and glared back at her.

They stood like that for a very long time, long enough that Dani began restlessly shifting from foot to foot. She wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, dammit. He had insulted her, practically called her a traitor, explicitly called her a whore, walked out. No. If he wanted something, he could ask. And then she could take glorious pleasure in shooting him down.

Finally, though, it was too much for her.

"What do you _want_?!?"

At the same time, "I can wait a long time, pet..."

They both snapped their mouths shut, and returned to the stony silence.

_~~oh for god's sake. this is ridiculous. talk to the man. speaking of immature...I mean, yes, he's a pig bastard, but you are way too hung up on him to get that through your thick head. talk.~~_

"Shut _up_ , Innie-Me!" In her frustration, she accidentally said it out loud. Crowley's eyebrows rose.

"It's true," he breathed. "You _do_ talk to your meat suit! Davis told me. He's scandalized. How very...kinky."

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, folded her lips, and glared at him some more.

"I _like_ kinky, pet," he murmured, and waggled his eyebrows at her. That was no surprise. She clamped down hard on the automatic snort of amusement that tried to escape.

When she didn't respond, he sighed and snapped his fingers. An arm chair appeared behind him, another behind her. He sat down, making himself comfortable. "Sit," he commanded. She automatically did so, then growled at herself for doing as he ordered. "So. Dean Winchester delivered your gift to me. Thank you. You are the _maestra_ of occult research that you claimed you were. Of course; I never really had any doubt. Shall we talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" she snapped.

He leaned his head back against the chair, looked at her from beneath hooded eyelids. He looked remarkably haughty, she thought. Smug bastard.

"The third ingredient, darling. Blood from someone who loves me."

She froze. Then: "What's that to me?" she snarled. "Love is the farthest thing from my thoughts."

_~~ooooh, girl. such a fib.~~_

She ground her teeth in frustration. He watched, fascinated. "She's talking to you again, isn't she? What's she saying? This is so intriguing!"

"Nothing you need to know!"

He rubbed a thoughtful hand over his lips. "I could always go in and talk to her myself..."

"Hah! Yes! Do that! She'll rip you a new one! She despises you!"

"What? What for? I'm a charming person!" He sounded genuinely insulted.

_~~oh lord, you idiots. lemme out, lemme talk to him.~~_

_What?!? No way!_

She clamped down hard, but Innie-Me, fueled by sheer exasperation, slipped and slid, wiggled aside, and suddenly Dani was horrified to hear herself saying, "You are such a slimeball." Crowley blinked. "You rape her, call her a whore, hurt her, dump her. You're a fucking textbook abuser, and I have no goddamn idea why she is so wrapped up in you. But every time I try to talk sense to her, she ignores me. She's lying. She fucking loves you, and it's fucking sad. She calls herself a feminist, flies off the handle about consent and mansplaining and the lack of credit females get for their accomplishments, but you snap your fingers and she'll come running, that's how fucked up--"

He narrowed his eyes. "Enough." He snapped his fingers, and Innie-Me was slammed back deep down inside her.

_~~goddammit, I was just getting started!~~_

Dani flushed and looked down at the carpet, avoiding his eyes.

"You let her talk to you like that?" He was amazed.

Dani flushed even deeper, embarrassed. "Yeah. I like her. She's honest. She...keeps me from getting a swollen head. And she can be funny."

He shook his head in disbelief. " _Chacon a son gout._ Absolutely no accounting for taste. However..." He tilted his head, regarded her with sleepy interest, and murmured, "'You snap your fingers and she'll come running'...hmmm."

He snapped his fingers, and she was no longer sitting in the chair in the demon trap, but sitting sideways on his lap, her head near his. He said to her, softly, "I don't grovel, pet. I don't do apologies." She shivered at his breath tickling her ear, drew in his scent through her nose, all scotch and maleness and sulfur. He slid his hand through her hair, tugged her head back. "Consider this your apology." He kissed her softly, then harder, his tongue probing her mouth, then pulled it out, running it along her lips, then nipped her lower lip with his teeth. She sighed, leaned in to him; he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her hard against his body, then snapped his fingers again. They reappeared on his bed.

"Oh! Sir! Um...Miss Dani...!"

"Get out, Davis," Crowley snarled.

"Um. Yes. I think I'll just--" Davis blushed a delicate pale pink, backed up, turned, and left the room rather swiftly.

He pushed her down on the bed, turned to straddle her, snapped his fingers, and her clothes disappeared. She squirmed.

"That's so not fair," she protested mildly. He ran his hands down her body, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

"I don't do 'fair', pet. I do power. I do control. Just accept it." He leaned forward, trailed his tongue in a spiral around one breast, then the other, ending the spirals by rolling the nipples between his teeth. "Having you naked beneath me while I am fully clothed...having my intelligent, capable, self-confident head research honcho naked and vulnerable, trembling like a lovesick sex slave, willing to do anything...it makes me very, very hard, pet." He slid down, pulled her knees up, spread them apart, and bent his head to trail his tongue from her navel down to her vulva. He licked, he sucked, he slid the tip of his tongue around her clit, and she quivered under him and moaned. Her world narrowed down to just physical sensation: her body, his hands, his tongue, the smell of sex, every fiber of her being focused on the here and now while the rest of the world faded away.

He brought her right to the very edge, then stopped, lifted his head and smiled lazily down her body at her face. "Right there, darling." She made a wordless sound of frustration, tried to pull his head back down, but instead he slid back up her body, tilted her head back again, kissed her, murmured, "My decision, pet. When I say you can." He bit his way down her arm, sucked on her fingers, and when she had relaxed just enough, was far enough back from climax, he slid back down and brought her to the edge one more time.

Over and over, each time a hair's-breadth closer. She was on fire, totally unthinking, riding a roller coaster controlled by him. Finally, he whispered in her ear, "Now," and moved back down a last time. This time he didn't stop, and her body twisted, spasmed, and she cried out loudly. He snapped his fingers, his own clothes disappeared, and he sat up, lifted her hips, and slowly slid his cock all the way in her, pulled it slowly out, and then began a rhythm. She moaned and cried out again, and he whispered, in time to his thrusts, "I...missed...you...very....much...Dani...girl..." And then he came and she came yet again, and the world narrowed down even further until everything was black and it was just her and him and incredible intense sensations.

Afterwards, he had her tucked up against him, his arm around her. She leaned into him and murmured, "So. Did you do this for me, or for my blood in the unbinding spell?"

He chuckled. "Dean Winchester asked me the very same thing. And the answer is the same: For both. Of course. What a silly question, pet."

She sat up, looked down at him with a frown. "Dean Winchester?!? You brought me back because of him?!? Because he 'explained' it?!?" She put the word in air quotes.

"You are not going to get all huffy again, are you? Enough." He pulled her back down, tucked her back beneath his arm. "I was very, very angry, pet. I would not have listened to you. He came to me. Delivered the spell and an extremely awkward explanation." His lips twisted in self-mockery. "Laughed at me for being tied up in knots because of you. So there we go."

"Oh."

"So we need to make plans. A week and a half, pet. Then this thing goes away," he shook the chain. "...and we can all deal with the _real_ problem."


	22. Come Together (The Beatles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas, and Charlie come up with a plan to free Sam from Lucifer, then enlist Crowley and Dani.
> 
> * * *

Sam drew the angel sigil on the wall, taking his time. This line went up, like so, then tilted over, swooped down, and had a fiddly little twirl at the end. The second line crossed the first here, then changed direction abruptly. The third line circled around, spiraled inward slightly.

He sat back and admired his work for a moment. To his other-sight, it glowed slightly blue-white, even before he activated it. An electric line in the wall above glowed golden, with sparks flaring occasionally. He blinked, concentrated, and the blue-white faded away, the electric line disappeared. He blinked again, concentrated in a different way, and both reappeared.

It was working, slowly but surely; he was figuring out how to control the other-sight so it didn't overwhelm him all the time. It was fascinating, lovely, but being in an ongoing acid trip grew kind of tiring after a while. Though this afternoon, when he had stood outside the bunker, looked up into the sky, and been stunned by the undulations, the flowing curtains and pulses of brightness sweeping from one horizon to the other, that were the Van Allen Belt--that had been worth it. Like seeing the Northern Lights in broad daylight.

He placed his palm on the sigil, watched it flare into vibrant brightness, focused, and called out, "Dean!"

The answer was immediate and clear, as if Dean were standing next to him: "Sammy! Dude! You don't have to shout!"

He laughed. "Sorry," he said more quietly. Focusing his power on the sigil was making it work better. Maybe it would last longer this time.

"Sam. Good news. We have the unbinding spell."

Sam closed his eyes and heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Thank god."

"Well, no, actually, thank Dani Lippmann, Crowley's pet occult researcher..."

He stiffened. "Crowley's--!"

"Yeah, hey, didja know Crowley's alive? And apparently got a binding just like yours? Dani was already trying to--"

"Oh, I knew. He visited me."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Visited you? In your head?!? He didn't say anything about that--"

Sam barked a cynical laugh. "Dean. Dude. When does that douchebag ever say anything he doesn't really mean to? Everything-- _everything_ \--is calculated by that bastard."

"Stop interrupting."

"Sorry," he said again. He waited, but Dean didn't say anything. Finally, he continued, "Did he tell you about the digitized copies of the stuff in the bunker?"

"No. Damn. He knew about that? Son of a bitch. No, Charlie told us."

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah. Do me a favor. Just...just don't trust him." 

Dean laughed. "Nah. I may use him, though. So. About the spell. Has to be done at a full moon. Next one is about a week and a half. We'll get the stinking thing off you."

"Dean. That's great, but..." 

"But...?"

Sam stared sightlessly at the sigil. "Even with the chain off...I don't think I can kick Lucifer out on my own. He's too strong." He felt defeated even saying it, but it was the truth.

Dean was quiet for a few moments. "We'll figure something out. We always do."

"I hope so," he said quietly, but it was too late: the sigil had finally faded, without him noticing.

He stood up, brushed his hair back off his forehead, and headed off toward his bedroom.

The problem was that going to his bedroom meant he had to pass the kitchen. He had carefully avoided it all day; he had even gone into town first thing in the morning and bought a sack full of food to carry with him during the day, so he would be nowhere near the temptation of the thermos. But it was late, he didn't want to crash on one of the chairs in the common room, and now here he was, standing at the kitchen door...fighting himself. He didn't need it. His power, the other-sight--it was all there. He didn't need it, but he wanted it, so badly.

He clutched the door frame, hard, willing himself not to give in. Even so, he found himself stepping in, going to the fridge, pulling out the thermos...

***  
"Cas," Dean said to the empty air around him. When Cas did not appear, he called out louder, "Cas!" The angel had been gone all afternoon; he had said something about foxes in the snow, walked out the door, and hadn't returned.

There was the soft ruffle of angel wings, and Cas stood beside the sofa, snow dusting his shoulders and dark hair, and an adolescent red fox kit curled up in his hands. He absently stroked it as he said, "Yes?"

"Dude." Dean looked at the fox with a quizzical expression. "What's that?"

Cas smiled down at the fox kit, and the kit lifted his snout to look back up at Cas. Dean could swear the animal was smiling. "This? This is Grass In The Wind. Say hello."

Dean blinked. "Um. Hello, Grass, nice to meetcha. I guess." He felt awkward talking to a wild animal, but this sort of thing sometimes happened when Cas was around.

"He's just about to head out on his own. We've been playing in the snow, chasing mice," Cas said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which, given Cas, it probably was. Dean smiled indulgently for a moment, then said, "We need to talk. Maybe Grass here should go back home?"

Cas looked at him thoughtfully, then down at the kit. He tickled it behind its ears, it head-butted his hand, and then it vanished. He brushed his hands together and a small cloud of fox fur floated off. The snow in his hair was melting, sparkling in the lamp light. He ran his hands through it a few times, flicking off the wetness from the snow. It left his hair standing up in scruffy spikes.

It was adorable and attractive--Dean slammed down hard on that line of thought, turned his head away, cleared his throat.

"Uh. Okay. So. Yeah. Sit down, dude, you're giving me a crick in the neck."

Cas promptly sat down on the sofa, turned to look at him inquiringly.

"So. I just talked to Sam. And we've got a problem." Cas lifted his eyebrows encouragingly. "He says that even with the binding gone, he doesn't think he can take on Lucifer. Says he's too strong. We need to brainstorm, come up with ideas, a plan. And, dude, take off the trench coat, hang it up somewhere to dry. You're getting the sofa wet."

"Oh. Sorry!" Cas stood up, shed the wet coat, and carried it off to the hooks by the cabin door. He returned, sat back down, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes in thought. "Hmmm. We can assume that when we perform the unbinding, Lucifer will immediately be aware of it. So whatever we can do to aid Sam has to be done at the same time."

"Awesome," Dean muttered.

Cas's eyes flickered to meet his, then turned to stare into space. "We need, at the very least, a distraction."

Dean fidgeted, stood up, scratched his head, and started pacing. "A distraction. Hmmm. Any ideas?" He headed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, pulled out some bags of sliced ham and salami, then returned to the sofa. He sat on the arm of the sofa, one leg perched on the edge of the coffee table, and tossed the bag of ham on the table, began snacking on the salami.

Cas leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "Crowley does have the same binding...if his were to be broken at the same time..."

Dean rolled a slice of salami up into a tube, and peered at the angel through it. "Hunh. So Lucy'd be kinda pulled in two directions at once, would have to decide which to deal with. Hmmm." He popped the salami in his mouth, chewed, thought.

" 'S not enough, though," he added. "Crowley's secondary to Lucifer; Sam's the important one. He'll pay more attention to Sam..."

"We would need to do something more to help Sam. He will be inside his head, fighting to expel Lucifer. What if..." Cas's voice trailed off. He leaned forward, tapping the table, narrowed eyes angled at Dean. He was sliding into strategy mode, Dean could tell. "What if...we could have someone else in there with Sam when the binding comes off?"

Dean leaned forward, opened the bag of ham, pulled out a slice, and stared at it, thinking. "Well. Crowley didn't mention it to us, but Sam said he'd visited him...in his head." He bit into the ham slice. "Which means at least Crowley can get in there." He frowned at Cas. "But I'd trust that douchebag in Sam's head alone just as much as I can throw him, which isn't very far..."

"If Sam were to say 'yes' to me, I could also occupy him..."

Dean barked out a laugh. "Damn! It's getting kinda crowded in there, don't you think?"

Cas smoothed out his hand on the table. His eyes were distant, calculating. "The world of spirits and souls is...not as constrained as ours by spatial constructs."

"Um. Care to translate that into English?"

"Put simply: There's a lot more space in Sam's mindscape than you would imagine."

Dean leaned his elbows on his knees, squinting. "Sooo...we could put all the people we can think of in there to help him?"

Cas snorted softly. "Well. Not all. There are limitations; they're just not as rigid as they are in the material plane."

Dean lifted a dubious eyebrow, then shrugged. "Okay. You and Crowley--ugh--and who else? And how do we coordinate all this?"

"There is another complication: Crowley and I would have to be physically close to Sam's body..."

Dean stared at him. "Oh, goody. That's just awesome. How're we gonna do that?"

"Can't you just summon him?"

Both Dean and Cas started in surprise, then turned around. Charlie was standing at the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall. "Hey. I've been listening. It's a cool plan! But, really, can't you just summon him--Lucifer, I mean? You've summoned angels before, right? Even an archangel? And he's an archangel, right? Well, yes, he's the devil, too, but underneath it all, archangel. Right?"

Cas blinked. Dean bit his lip, ran his hand across the stubble on his chin. They looked at each other. Dean said, slowly, "Raphael..." His voice trailed off as he remembered him and Cas summoning the archangel, trapping him in a circle of holy oil fire. 

Cas nodded slowly. "It could work. It could just work."

Dean smiled blindingly at her. "Charlie! You are so damned awesome!"

She blushed, tossed her head. "Hey! I could be a genius!"

"So. We summon Lucy. We have the unbinding spells ready. When he appears, we trap him in a holy fire circle, we do the unbinding spells, you and--maybe--Crowley, and whoever else we can think of--"

Cas's eyebrows twitched together. "I might be able to bring you along. It is difficult, but doable. We would need to work fast. Your body would be without its soul, and the longer it takes, the harder it will be to--to--"

"Put Humpty Dumpty back together again?" Charlie offered. He smiled at her.

"Yes. Exactly."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Dean muttered. He drew in a deep breath, straightened, clapped his hands on his thighs, and said, more loudly, "Well, okay then. This is getting awfully complex, though. And we need to get Crowley to agree. And tell Sam the plan. And...and...practice."

Cas and Charlie looked at him. He threw his hands up. "Okay! Okay! Jeez." He pulled out his phone and dialed Crowley.

***  
Crowley pocketed his phone and pursed his lips, picking at them thoughtfully. Finally, he shrugged. "Heh. Interesting. Shall we go, pet?"

"Go? Go where?" Dani had listened to his end of the conversation, but it had been somewhat cryptic. A lot of "ahah"s and "I see"s. 

"Eh?" He looked at her, added, "To that cabin of theirs. The Adirondacks, I think? Dean wants a powwow."

"Now?!? That far?!? Why me?!?" She wasn't sure she could do it.

"Chop chop, pet." He held out his hand for hers.

_~~girl! you've only gone fifty miles at a whack so far!~~_

_I can do it._

She took his hand, and they flitted.

She staggered when they popped out. She could see Dean, Charlie, the angel Castiel, all of whom were gaping at her. The room started spinning and she grabbed Crowley's arm to steady herself. The headache slammed into her, the lights were stabbing into her eyes, and her skin hurt.

Crowley looked down at her, breathed in a hiss. "I thought you were practicing, pet?" he growled.

"I have been!" she replied breathlessly. She pushed her forehead against his chest, hard; it lessened the pain somewhat.

"Bollocks!" he snarled. He guided her to a chair, pushed her down in it, said an abrupt, "Excuse me, boys," and vanished again. She bent almost double in pain, hands clutched in her hair. They were babbling, but she couldn't spare the attention to listen to what they saying.

Crowley reappeared as swiftly as he had left. He thrust a thermos at her; she reached blindly for it, uncapped it, and chugged the horrible drink as fast as she could.

_~~damn it, dani. don't push it like that!~~_

_I said I could do it, and I did._

_~~stupid. pride goes before a fall and all that crap.~~_

_Yeah, yeah._

She looked up, to see four faces staring at her. She straightened up. The anti-power-hangover potion worked damned fast. Thank god.

"Um. Sorry."

Crowley narrowed his eyes at her. "Better?" She nodded. He folded his lips and glared. "Don't be a bloody fool." She nodded wordlessly.

He turned away, looked at the others, and said, "Hello, darlings. Hail, hail, the gang's all here, and all that rot. Now that the _unnecessary drama_ is finished--" He slid his eyes toward Dani. She frowned at him. "Perhaps we could get on with it? Explain what this little _tete a tete_ is all about?"

Dean and Cas started talking. Dani listened with half her attention; Charlie was heading her way. Charlie crouched down beside her chair.

"Are you okay? You looked like a ghost when you got here, all white-faced! And then you started turning green!"

Dani smiled at her. "I'm fine, girl. Just...I'm new at flitting, and the distance was a bit much."

"Well! Be careful!" Charlie looked over at Crowley. "So. Um. The, uh, thing with him...? Everything is worked out? I made Dean take him the spell, so he could explain--we could always have put it in the mail, or sent it FedEx. These guys, with their hangup on the supernatural, they always forget there are perfectly ordinary ways to do things!"

Dani grinned at her. "So it wasn't Dean's idea, after all?"

"Pshhhh. Please. I had to pester him and nag at him and push him to just deliver the spell. I used guilt!" Her eyes danced. Dani reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Just...thanks."

"Sure thing. Now. You should listen! They've got a real on-fleek plan they're working on, to unbind Sam and Crowley and dump Lucifer out of Sam! So...so...Lucy wouldn't have a vessel. And then we, we, uh, find some way to ward Sam, so Lucifer can't get back in, though I think once you boot an angel out, you have to say 'yes' again, specifically, so maybe we wouldn't need to ward Sam after all--" She stopped to catch her breath. Dani nodded absently, listening.

"I think you're right. About this Sam guy having to say 'yes' again...Sam's the brother, right? Sam Winchester?"

Charlie nodded.

"How on earth are you boys going to coordinate all this?" Crowley's voice rose. "Three spells. At once. Plus three of us diving into Sam. At the same time. Are you all bloody _suicidal_?" He ended with a bellow.

There was a silence.

"We can figure out the details," Dean finally said. "We have a little over a week--"

"You'd better!" Crowley said acidly. He turned to Dani. "Any ideas, Dani-girl?" 

She frowned and thought. "So. The summoning could be done first," she said slowly. "In fact, it must be done first. So you need two people doing the unbinding spells...plus the three of you--"

Crowley interrupted. "Four. I'm taking you along."

She gaped at him. "What?!?" Dean and Cas both started protesting. Crowley roared, " _SILENCE!_ " Everyone shut up.

"The more people we have in there to support Moose, the better. Unless you gentlemen have any ideas for another person we can take?" His tone was snide. "The fewer people we have involved...and, since my Dani-girl is a demon, she can sneak right in along with me, no need for magical hitchhiking."

Dean and Cas were silent, thinking. Charlie looked sideways at Dani, lifted her eyebrows, shrugged.

Dani turned the plan over in her head. She continued out loud, "Well. If I don't go, that means Charlie and I can do the unbinding spells, while you three are ready to climb in. But if you want me to come along, that puts a crimp in that idea..."

_~~hey. dani.~~_

_Not now._

_~~yes, now. if you go in, that means i'm out here, right? that's another person. i could do one of the unbinding spells.~~_

Dani froze. Cas started to speak, but Crowley waved him to silence, shrewd eyes watching her.

_That's an...interesting idea, Innie-Me. Why on earth would you offer to do it?_

_~~duh. lucifer? bad guy? the baddest of bad guys?~~_

She blinked, then looked at Crowley. Their eyes locked. His eyebrow tilted up, and she gave a tiny nod. He drew in a breath. " _Really_?"

"Really," she replied, nodding firmly.

"Well!"

Dean interrupted, plaintively. "Will one of you tell me what's going on?"

Crowley turned to him. "Dani here has an...unusual relationship with her meat-suit," he drawled.

_~~the pig bastard can just stop calling me a meat-suit. right now.~~_

"Vessel," Dani corrected. Crowley slid an annoyed glance back at her. She shrugged. "Be polite."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "...With her 'vessel'," he sneered. "She talks to it--"

"Her," Dani said firmly.

"Her," Crowley ground out, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I believe the...vessel...has just volunteered to--". He glanced at Dani. "Be one of the two performing the unbinding spells...?" He finished on a question. Dani nodded. "Which would make two people outside, Ms. Bradbury and..." He drew in an exasperated breath. "Ms. Lippmann, while the four of us--including Dani--go in."

Dean, Cas, and Charlie stared at Dani. Dean rubbed his chin. "Well. That is definitely...different."

Crowley barked a laugh. "It's scandalous, is what it is! It just isn't done!"

"Don't be a prude, Crowley," Dean said absently. Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it with a click, glared at Dean.

Dean slapped his thighs and stood up. "Done. It's a plan."

***  
Sam tilted the thermos, more and more upright. The last of Crowley's blood dripped into the glass. He held the thermos above the glass, waiting for the remaining drops to slide out. That was the last of it.

He would have to go demon hunting again soon.

But it wouldn't be the same.


	23. Bad Company (Bad Company)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam runs out of Crowley's blood. He summons him to get more, but Lucifer notices and comes for a visit...
> 
> * * *

Two days.

It had been two days since he had drunk the last of Crowley's blood.

He had occupied himself with two things: dreaming up a nest of vampires preying on the small Kansas towns around Lebanon, then hunting and killing them; and practicing a variety of tricks with his power. He could transport things around the bunker and beyond. He could shatter things soundlessly, dissolving them into their component molecules and watching the resulting cloud drift away into the distance. He could pull at the energy lines he saw everywhere, making them loop and twist and knot. It wasn't useful for anything, but it was damned pretty, and fun to make flowers or wiry animals out of the glow, then, with a twist of his hand, return it to its original shape.

The power wasn't a problem--he could tell it would last a long time. He was beginning to wonder if this was his supposed innate power coming to the fore, with no need to use demon blood as a crutch.

The problem was he missed the high.

So he had driven to Kansas City, sniffed out a demon, hunted it, killed it, drunk its blood.

It was a pleasant buzz. It would have been thrilling a few weeks ago. But now he had gotten used to the high he got from Crowley's blood. He didn't need it.

No.

He craved it. He yearned for it.

He prayed to his absent God that when he returned to owning his body again, when Lucifer was gone, that the craving would vanish. After all, he had been cleansed of it by that very same God.

In the meantime...

He carried the supplies to the dungeon. He inspected the demon trap, to be sure all the lines were correct, all the sigils perfect. He brought down one of the reference books to make sure, checking and double-checking against the printed design in the book. When he was satisfied that all was right, he knelt down before the trap, chalked the sigil, placed the seven candles properly, lit them, and set the silver bowl in the center of the sigil. He added the herbs to the bowl, then sat back on his heels.

"I can stop this here and now," he muttered.

The empty dungeon echoed his voice.

He dropped his head, thumped his thigh with a fist, then just sat, doing nothing, for a long time. His long hair draped his face.

Finally, he lifted his head, face set, drew a long breath, pulled his knife from its sheath, and slashed the palm of his left hand. He held it over the bowl and watched his blood drip in, soaking into the dried herbs. Then he grabbed the match box, struck a match, and dropped it into the bowl.

The bowl flared with blue light. His other-sight showed him black smoke tangling with the blue.

" _...Et ad congregandum, eos coram me_ ," he ended the incantation. He sat back on his heels again, waiting.

"Moose. What the bloody hell are you doing, you _idiot_!" Crowley hissed. He stood in the center of the demon trap, darting nervous looks in all directions. "Don't you know our darling Lucy will hear this summoning spell, come to see what it's all about? You're going to bollux up _everything_! Our plans will be a shambles!"

Sam blinked at him in surprise. "Plans? What plans?"

"You great galumphing brainless giraffe! We're busting you out! Haven't you talked with Dean?!?"

He hadn't dared talk to Dean. He didn't want to let slip what was going on. Dean would go ballistic about him using his powers, and just the mention of demon blood--!

"No. What plans, Crowley?" he repeated in a hard voice.

"Gah!" Crowley waved his hands in wordless frustration. He thumped down in the chair in the center of the demon trap and put his head in his hands. Sam could hear him muttering, "It's a bloody miracle you two have survived this long! It's a bloody miracle _I've_ survived this long, getting mixed up in your messes!" He lifted his head and glared at Sam. "Our plan. In a nutshell. We summon Lucy, trap him in burning holy oil, unbind the two of us, then Dean, Cas, me, and my Dani-girl bop on into your head to help you toss him out. And it was all going beautifully! We were practicing! We even were gathering weapons! I was training Dani in specific tricks of power! And you've gone and put it all in danger by SUMMONING ME!" he bellowed.

Sam stared at Crowley, astonished by the litany. He thought about it for a moment. It was actually a pretty good plan. He opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley went on, "What the hell are you summoning me for, anyway?!?"

Sam stood up, folded his arms, gave Crowley a dangerous look. "As if you don't know," he scoffed.

"Argh! What, am I some kind of mind-reader?!? I haven't the foggiest--". He stopped abruptly. "Oh," he said. "Oooohhh! Why, Sammy. You've run out!" He smirked. "Tch, tch, tch, darling. Bad planning on your part." His eyes glittered.

Sam growled wordlessly, took a step forward, then stopped, clenching his fists. He wanted to beat the smirk right off Crowley's face. He stooped down, picked up his demon knife, stood back up twirling it sideways between his two hands, and didn't say a word.

"That's not very friendly, pet. Especially if you want something from me," Crowley commented lightly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "I can always just take it from you," he said quietly.

Crowley lifted his eyebrows, pursed his lips, tilted his head. "Don't kill the goose that lays the golden demon's blood. Or something like that." He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. He laced his hands behind his head, smiled. "Do you want more? Happy to oblige, darling," he drawled. He added, "Preferably with a different knife, of course."

Sam flushed angrily, his jaw muscles tightening. Then he turned to the table nearby, grabbed a knife and the thermos from it, strode into the demon trap, and handed them to Crowley. Crowley took them from him, slanting a sly look at him. "Bleeding for a Winchester...Cas and I seem to do that all the time."

Sam twitched angrily. "Don't you dare compare yourself to _Cas_!" he snapped. "Cas is our _friend!_ "

"And I am...something else." Crowley bared his teeth. Then he shrugged, pulled an arm out of his suit jacket, rolled up the shirt cuff, and sliced into his arm. He held it over the mouth of the thermos. "So...where do you think you're going with this, Moose, hmmm?" he asked quietly, with a tiny smile.

Sam didn't answer. He couldn't. He just watched the blood drip into the thermos.

It took a long time to fill it. Neither Sam nor Crowley said anything during the process.

***  
He sat in the common room with his arms stretched out on the table, head between his arms, cheek down. The filled thermos stood on the end of the table. He didn't look at it. He kept hearing the question.

_"...where do you think you're going with this...?"_

He didn't know. He knew what would happen if he were trapped here, inside his brain, for the rest of eternity. He saw the darkness coming; it was already starting. But all he needed to do was hold out for a week. One week. Discipline himself, dole out the doses of Crowley's blood carefully. Wait for the full moon. Fight like hell. Hope that he could, with help, expel Lucifer, regain control of his body.

One week. He could do it.

He sighed, sat up, ran his hands through his hair, pushed the long strands out of his face.

Then he froze.

Sitting at the end of the table was his doppelganger. Lucifer. Still dressed in that fucking white suit.

"So. Sam. I hear you've been consorting with demons..." Lucifer shook his head in disapproval, looking saddened. "You really shouldn't do that. Crowley's an ugly customer."

Sam couldn't speak. His throat was dry. Crowley had been right. Dammit.

Lucifer sighed, leaned forward. "Sam. You know I like you. We're the same, underneath. A lot of pride. Not fitting in. Just wanting our fathers' approval. Wanting what's ours, by right, by our gifts. Leadership. Control. Power. If you'd just stop fighting me...you could be with me, seeing what I see, helping me, fighting with me. We could be brothers. Together forever."

Now Sam was glad he couldn't speak, because he'd be tempted to say what he was thinking: that being by Lucifer's side forever was his personal vision of Hell.

Lucifer shook his head. "But there you are. Calling Crowley in. Now, why, exactly, would you do that?"

He licked his lips, tried to speak. Coughed. There was an old glass of water at the other side of the table; he grabbed it, gulped some down.

He remembered something Bobby and his dad had told him: if you're going to lie, try lying by telling the truth.

"You should know," he finally choked out.

Lucifer tilted his head, looked sympathetic. "Why? What do you think I should already know? I'm just trying to understand, here."

Sam turned his head away. "You're the one who...who...started my...addiction--" God, he could barely say the word! "--going again. And then sent that slimy douchebag in here to 'prevent' me from attacking you." He looked back at Lucifer.

Lucifer smiled gently. "I'm sorry. Both those things may have seemed a bit paranoid. I truly am sorry about the...the demon blood thing. Truly. But I really felt--and still feel--that it was the best way to keep you preoccupied. And Crowley. Well." He sighed, leaned back in his chair. "I sent him in as a precaution. A whim, actually. But none of this explains why you would call him back in again. Unless..." He lifted an eyebrow, made a wordless gesture.

"When he was here the first time..." Sam stopped.

"Tell me, Sam." The voice was gentle, persuasive.

"I needed blood," Sam whispered, closing his eyes.

"And..." Lucifer prompted him.

"He gave me some of his. It was...very strong." Sam shuddered. His hands flexed open and closed on the table top. "He left me some. A supply. And then..."

"Then...?"

Sam dropped his head in his hands. Talking about it made him feel sick. "I ran out," he said, very quietly. Lucifer was silent. "So I summoned him. Got him to give me more. In the thermos, there." He pointed without looking.

Lucifer stayed silent for a few more moments. Then: "Oh, Sam. I am so sorry. I know you feel sick, alone, degraded. I simply had to do it." He stood up, walked to the other end of the table, picked up the thermos. "And I hope you understand why I have to be certain that you are telling the truth." He opened the thermos, looked in, sniffed. Then he dipped a fingertip in, tasted it. He made a small face of disgust, pulled a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the remaining blood from his finger. He recapped the thermos and set it back down. He looked down the table at Sam, shook his head sadly.

"Remember. Just give me your word that you'll stop fighting, stop trying to find a way to force me out. I will always be happy to have you join with me. This...this struggle. It doesn't have to be."

He vanished.

Sam gasped, relaxed muscles he hadn't realized had been knotted up in tension, fear that Lucifer would guess the rest. He had successfully lied to the Father of Lies. Or, at least kept him from realizing there was more. He didn't know whether to be proud or afraid of his success.

And now what?

He looked at the thermos. His guts knotted up again. He licked his lips nervously, stood up, picked it up, and went over to the liquor cabinet for a glass.

One week.


	24. When We Stand Together (Nickelback)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang prepares to assault Lucifer.
> 
> A/N: No hating on me for Nickelback! I *like* them.
> 
> * * *

Crowley sat on the sofa, carefully wiping down the black Luger with a clean, soft cloth after disassembling it, cleaning it, and reassembling it. He lifted it up, safetied it, pointed it at the opposite wall, and sighted. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, laid the gun on a cloth on the coffee table, and leaned back, looking around.

Charlie and Dani had collected three silver bowls and labeled each one with a laminated name tag carefully taped down. Each bowl had all the required dry ingredients already in it, waiting for blood or oil to be added. There were three stacks of pillar candles, three boxes of kitchen matches, two printouts of the unbinding spell. Cas had indignantly said he did not need to use a cheat sheet for the angel summoning ritual, that it was already part of his core programming. He hesitated before using the phrase, mouth twisting with distaste, his eyes sad and distant. No one had pushed him any further.

Right now, Charlie, Dani, and Dean were preparing the proper sigils for each spell. Cas was carefully pouring holy oil in a large circle next to the angel-summoning sigil.

"Thomas Edison would be proud of us!" Charlie crowed. "A spell assembly line! Well--" She frowned. "Not exactly. An assembly line would have each of us doing just one step, over and over. But! It's the step before a real assembly line! He'd still think it was cool!"

Dani sat back on her knees, futilely trying to dust chalk off her hands. Then she rubbed her chin, leaving a stripe of chalk dust behind. She grinned at Charlie. "It's certainly efficient. But I have to say it's not something I'd like to do all day, everyday." Charlie nodded agreement.

Dean stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. Charlie coughed and waved away the chalk dust that came drifting her way. Dean put his hands on his hips, swiveled around to look at each sigil and its associated bowl, candles, and other paraphernalia. "Looks good. Looks damn good. So we've got everything ready?" 

Dani and Charlie looked at each other. Charlie shrugged. Dani looked up at Dean, nodded, and said, "Looks like." He nodded back and turned away, then stopped, attention caught by Crowley's gun on the coffee table.

"Dude," he said quietly, dangerously. "What the hell is that gun doing here?"

Crowley leaned forward to pick up the gun, automatically checked the safety again, and sighted at the opposite wall once more. "Like it, Squirrel? One of my newer toys. Well, the gun isn't, the bullets are. Prime angel killing bullets. Had them smuggled out of Hell a few months ago, just on general principle." He laid the gun carefully back down.

Dean walked slowly over to the sofa to stand looming over Crowley, hands clenching into fists. His hazel eyes glittered angrily, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "Just what are you planning to do with it?" Charlie watched anxiously, Cas moved to stand behind Dean, and Dani surreptitiously gathered her power to defend Crowley if necessary.

"Shoot Lucifer with it as soon as he appears. Of course. What did you think?" he snapped acidly.

Dean made a sudden lunge toward him, but Cas's hand clutched his arm to hold him back.

"Let me go, Cas!" He gritted out. "Listen, you fucking bastard. _No one_ is shooting my brother, y'hear me! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!?"

Cas's attention was focused on Crowley, eyes narrowed in thought as he absently kept Dean held tight. "Dean. Listen to him."

Crowley leaned back nonchalantly, ignoring the signs of personal danger. He held up a hand, and started ticking off points on the fingers. " _Primus._ I will be shooting Lucifer, not your brother." One finger went down. " _Secundus_. I will not be shooting to kill, but to injure. This is a distraction only; the angel bullets will harm, but not kill, since there are only four archangel blades and no-one has any bloody idea where they are." A second finger. " _Tertius_. If we _don't_ succeed, none of us will care." He arched a snarky eyebrow at Dean. Finger number three was ticked. " _Quartus_. If we _do_ succeed, we have your handsome angel lover there--" He waved a hand at Cas. "--who will be both able and willing to heal Sam's body when it's all over."

Dean stood poised for mayhem, his eyes slitted, while he digested Crowley's reasoning. He relaxed very slowly, inch by inch, and Cas's hand released its tight hold on him. He took a step back, then pointed a threatening finger at Crowley. "So help me God, Crowley, if you do _anything_ to make me think this is a trick..." He left the warning unfinished.

Crowley heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. I know. You'll rip my heart out, yadda, yadda, yadda. Really. If I had anything planned, do you think I'd have given you a clue? Please. Four bullets; two shoulders, two thighs."

Dean smiled grimly at him. "You're mighty damned sure about your shooting ability there," he said skeptically.

"Winner of the All-Hell shooting championship for fifty years in a row. Before I became King of the Crossroads, so no nepotism, purely skill." He smirked. "It was becoming embarrassing, so I retired." He glared at Dean, offended. "I hit what I aim at, Squirrel."

"You be sure you do," Dean said evenly. He turned away, strode to the cabin door, yanked it open and stalked out.

"So. We start at sunset?" Cas said. "It's a few hours, still. I think I'll step outside." He followed Dean out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Dani watched him go, curious. She grabbed Charlie's arm and pulled her into the hall. "So. Spill. Are those two--" She tilted her head to the door. "--a thing, like Crowley said?"

Charlie rolled her eyes. She hissed quietly, "Nobody knows! I asked Sam the same thing after I saw the two of them together, and even _Sam_ doesn't know. Sometimes I think so, sometimes I don't. It's so irritating! They look at each other. All. The. Time. When the other one isn't looking." She sighed, then brightened. "So! Tell me how the database is going! And have you snuck into VATOCC yet? If it doesn't work--someone might have gotten a couple of brain cells to work since I broke in--let me know; I have some cool new scripts I'm dying to try out!"

They drifted off to Charlie's room to talk shop.

***  
They began gathering as the sun went down. Crowley had been relaxing on the sofa, eating peanuts and reading a trashy romance novel. Charlie's iPad had sounded an alarm, prompting her and Dani to emerge from her bedroom; they were still talking methods of sifting through data. Dean was in the kitchen, eating a microwaved burrito. Finally Cas came back into the cabin, dusted the snow off his trench coat and carefully hung it on a hook by the door. Dani snuck several looks at him; he was normally quite nice to look at, but the blue suit was a revelation of male beauty. Dani sighed, thinking of how much fun she could be having if she weren't...involved. Then she smiled to herself: she was having quite a bit of fun anyway. Her eyes slid to Crowley. As if it were a signal, he glanced up from his book and looked back at her. Their eyes locked, he smiled slowly, eyelids drooping and a devilish glint in his eyes, and Dani blushed.

Dean emerged from the kitchen, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. He crumpled it, tossed it toward the living room trash can, and clapped his hands together. "So. We all ready?"

_~~yo. dani. we need your blood now.~~_

_What? Why now?_

_~~listen. i'm not in love with pb, you are. we need your blood, not mine. right?~~_

_Hunh. 'PB'?"_

_~~pig bastard.~~_

"I need a bowl or something to hold liquid," she spoke up. Dean's eyebrows twitched together questioningly, but he stepped back into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and handed it to her. She pulled out the angel blade Crowley had presented her with this morning, before they had flitted to the cabin, looked down at her left palm, pursed her lips, then sliced it, letting the blood drip into the glass. The unbinding spell didn't specify how much blood to use, so she patiently waited until the glass was filled a quarter of the way. She stooped to put the glass by the bowl marked "Crowley". 

When she stood up, Crowley was beside her. He took her bloody hand in his, lifted it to his lips, kissed it. Then he trailed a finger along the cut. She could feel a slight pulse of power as the sliced skin healed behind his fingertip. She looked up at his face with a small smile. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on the lips. Then the gentle kiss turned passionate, and she melted against him, blood quickening, her arms sliding around him and pulling him even closer.

"If you two are quite done...?" Dean's voice was testy. 

They ended the kiss. Crowley twitched an eyebrow, smiled slowly, mouthed, "After?", and she mouthed back, "Of course." Then they let their arms drop and turned to face the others.

Dani opened her mouth and smoked out. Her smoke gathered itself into a long, snaky coil, which then slid around Crowley's neck and draped down his arm. He started petting the smoke absently with one hand, Luger at the ready in the other. Danielle shook herself, darted into the kitchen, grabbed a cookie from the kitchen table, then knelt down by Crowley's bowl. She put the cookie carefully to her side. Dani snaked a tendril of smoke over to Danielle and brushed her arm gently.

Dean said briskly, "Okay. Let's get this show started. Cas?"

He moved to stand by Cas, lighter in hand. Cas lit a match, dropped it into the summoning bowl, and began chanting in Enochian. Dani was fascinated; she'd heard bits and pieces of Enochian during baby demon school, and thought it was the most ridiculous-sounding language, but it sounded appropriately grave and dignified when Castiel spoke it.

Cas finished the chant. They all waited, holding their breath.

Lucifer appeared. 

Dean immediately flicked his lighter and dropped it on the holy oil; a small flame lit, then spread rapidly to surround him. At the same time, Crowley took a stance, lifted the Luger, and shot four times. Lucifer's--Sam's--body staggered, and Dani could hear a gasp of pain. Then he recovered, stood straight, and his gaze swept them all haughtily.

Charlie and Danielle had poured blood into their bowls, lit the ingredients, and dropped the matches in. Their voices were rising in chorus, reciting the unbinding spell. Cas gripped Dean's shoulder, Dean slumped to the ground, and Cas poured blue smoke into the air. Then Crowley smoked out, and he and Dani aimed their smoke forms at Lucifer. 

There was an awkward moment when all three vaporous forms converged on Lucifer inside the circle of holy fire, but then they poured into Sam Winchester's body as one.

***  
Sam had been waiting. He had drunk the last of the second batch of Crowley's blood in the morning, then practiced with his power. He had completely lost track of time.

So it was a jarring surprise when Lucifer appeared next to him, seized his wrist in an iron grip, heaved him out of his chair, and slammed him to his knees. Sam grunted, breath knocked out of him by the rough handling, his arm twisted, pain searing through it.

Lucifer looked down at him with a cold face, and said, in an even colder voice, "Very tricky. You don't attack me, directly. You have others, outside, do it for you. I'm afraid, Sam, that it's time--"

Then he staggered, swayed, and four spots of blood appeared on his body. He recovered quickly, though, even though blood was streaming down from both his shoulders and the tops of his thighs, soaking into his pretty white suit. He twisted Sam's arm further, and Sam sank down, hissing with the pain.

"It's time I just kill you, I think..." 

"Sam! Say 'yes' to me!" Cas's bodiless voice reverberated through the bunker. Lucifer looked around, snarled, turned back to Sam, raised his hand--

Sam choked out, "Cas! _YES_!"

The common room was abruptly crowded. Cas was there, Dean standing with him. Dean flicked his eyes toward him, nodded, then focused back on Lucifer. Then Crowley and a strange woman appeared. All of them had angel blades at the ready. He could see, through eyes slitted against the pain in his arm, that his chain and Crowley's were still there.

Time seemed to pause.

Then the golden bindings dissolved into a hazy golden mist that drifted up to the ceiling of the common room and slowly dissipated.

***  
Back in the cabin in the Adirondacks, Charlie and Danielle looked at each other, then looked at Lucifer, who was standing stock still, eyes focused on nothing, in the center of the ring of holy fire. Charlie said, "Well!" and plopped down into a lotus position on the floor. Danielle answered, "We'll see..." and stretched out beside her on her stomach, chin perched on her crossed arms. She nibbled at the cookie off and on, and made quiet moans as she ate. Both kept their eyes on the fire and the form within it.

They waited.


	25. Uprising (Muse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Lucifer and the aftermath.
> 
> * * *

Sam wrenched his arm loose from Lucifer's grasp, scrabbled backwards a few feet, then lurched upwards, swaying as he gained his balance. He was between Dean and Crowley. He saw Dean look at Cas, jerk his head leftwards; then he pointed at Crowley and the unknown woman, gestured rightward with two fingers. All the players moved, spread out, and suddenly Lucifer was surrounded.

He just laughed.

"Do you really think this will make any difference? One angel, two demons, two humans." He smiled thinly, made a "come at me" gesture. No one moved. He laughed again.

Sam switched to other-sight. Lucifer was a towering pillar of painful white brilliance, white wings spreading grandly. Cas was a similar, slightly smaller pillar of brilliance with a blue overtone; his wings were darker and smaller. There were wisps of blue-white floating away from his main body, twisting and twining with the edges of Dean's much smaller, bluer essence. Crowley was, as before, a tight ball of deep red; the edges of his essence twined tightly with the edges of the compact knot of blackness that was the woman. Sam switched back to normal sight.

Cas's eyes were grim and determined, glowing blue. He was shining white, and the shadow of his wings rose behind him on the bunker walls. He lifted his hand, gathering blue energy.

Lucifer made a lazy motion, and Cas was smashed into the wall behind him. He slid limply down.

Dean took an abrupt step forward, calling out, " _Cas_!" Then he stopped, returned his attention to Lucifer, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. Cas didn't move.

Lucifer ignored Dean, turned to Crowley next. Crowley narrowed his eyes, lifted a hand, snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. Crowley looked down at his hand, puzzled, snapped a few more times. He looked back at Lucifer, who was watching expressionlessly. He snarled, "I should know better than to get mixed up in the Winchesters' messes!"

Lucifer twitched a small smile. "Well, yes, you should..."

Crowley raised his hand to snap another time; Sam couldn't help thinking he was about to disappear like the slimy coward he was. But before he could complete the motion, Lucifer raised his hand, made a sweeping motion, and Crowley went flying through the air, crashing into one of the common room tables. He, too, didn't move.

Sam heard a small gasp from the woman. She had been slowly creeping up behind Lucifer, angel blade ready, but the action with Crowley had caught her attention. Her face twisted, and she leaned forward quickly with the blade, sweeping it across the back of one of Lucifer's legs. He had been turning in response to her gasp, so the blow landed incorrectly. Lucifer's leg buckled slightly, obviously it had landed enough to injure him, but not seriously. He looked down at her, raised his hand in a fist, and smashed down.

Her form crumpled.

Sam moved closer to Dean. They were all that was left.

Dean looked at him, raised his eyebrows, shrugged. Sam shrugged back in return. Then they both looked at Lucifer, who looked back at them.

"Dean and Sam Winchester. Fucking up the Apocalypse multiple times. Well, maybe not this time, eh?" His one-sided smile peeped out. "Dean first, I think, and then it's time to put you down, Sam. A pet that bites...well. It has to be put down." He shrugged. "And, as always...I win." He lifted his hand.

Sam stepped in front of Dean instinctively. "Sammy! Stop!" Dean cried. He grabbed Sam's shoulder, tried to pull him back, but Sam wouldn't budge. He plucked dean's hand off, pushed him back slightly, stared furiously at Lucifer. Anger was roiling through him. His nostrils twitched, his jaw worked, his shoulders hunched. He had absolutely no idea what to do, but he was going to fight Lucifer, dammit, and protect his brother, and be damned with the consequences.

"Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. You can't win. You just can't." The voice was light, tuned to wiggle down, dig into Sam's fears, self-doubts.

"I won once. I'll do it again," he ground out. Never mind that he still, to this day, had no idea how he had done it. He concentrated, gathering his power, raised his hand.

Lucifer's eyes lit with triumph. "That's right, Sammy, use those powers of yours. Disintegrate me into molecules. Twist me like the lines of energy you've been doodling with. Flick me here and there with it."

Sam paused. This was wrong. He was strong, but Cas had been strong, Crowley had been strong. In a battle of power, strength, Lucifer would always win.

"Powers? Sammy, have you been playing with that psychic shit?" Sam closed his eyes in frustration. Trust Dean to latch onto that!

He reopened his eyes to see Lucifer laughing gently. "Oh, yes, Dean, he's been playing with them. Not much else for him to do, right? He's also been dri--"

_Nope. Not gonna let him tell Dean about the demon blood!_

Sam flung power wildly. Lucifer batted it aside easily, but didn't finish the sentence, distracted.

"You two. It's always you two against the world, isn't it?" Sam heard a hint of bitter jealousy lurking behind the words. And it struck him. That was it. That was how to fight him.

He closed his eyes. Dug deep. Reached for all the concealed loneliness, fear, self-doubt, bitterness that he had ever felt. The shame at being reintroduced to his demon blood addiction. The self-hate for giving in to Crowley's lure. The anger at being tricked by Dean into being possessed by Gadreel. The fear of Cas, when he had been loaded up with souls from Purgatory. The pain at losing Madison, Jess, Amelia. The despair at feeling dad would never love him, appreciate him for what he was. The feeling of being a freak. The betrayal he felt when Ruby revealed herself.

He took all those feelings and--somehow, some way--shaped a mental spear. He opened his eyes, locked eyes with Lucifer, and let them flow, threw them at him.

It wasn't direct power, no. That was not the way you beat Lucifer. But holding up an emotional mirror to someone who had no emotional support...?

Lucifer staggered. His face twisted. He raised his hands to his head, clutched it, groaned.

Sam pushed the spear of emotions harder. Lucifer fell to his knees, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out. "Father!" he cried. "Father! Why did you abandon me?!? Why? I loved you most of all! I was your best! Why did you turn away from me, cast me out?"

Sam strode forward, grabbed Lucifer by the neck, shook him. "Because He finally figured out that you're a fucking spoiled, selfish, self-absorbed toddler, who wasn't worth his time, you douchebag!" he gritted out. "Now GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BODY!"

Everything wrenched, twisted, turned inside out.

***  
Pain.

Flaring in his shoulders, his legs. Every breath he took hurt. Iron spikes drove through his body, pulsed red-hot in time with his heartbeat. He threw his head back, screamed, and crumpled to the floor.

***  
Danielle and Charlie were playing gin rummy when chaos erupted.

Lucifer, who had stood stock still in the circle of fire for an hour, screamed shrilly in pain and fell to the floor. 

Actinic white light blew outward, blinding them. Then it vanished.

Smoke--red, black, blue-white--emerged from his mouth. The blue-white grace slid over to Cas, slipped into him. A deep red cloud descended into Crowley. The black smoke crawled across the floor and slithered into Danielle's lap, like an exhausted snake. A piece of the blue had separated from Cas's grace and filtered back into Dean; he shifted and moaned.

Charlie looked wildly at Danielle, then leapt to her feet, moving to Dean. Danielle ignored her, stroking the black smoke, and saying urgently, "Dani?!? Dani! Are you all right?!?"

The black smoke stirred, lifted feebly, then slid slowly into her.

_Hey._

_~~are you all right?!? what happened?!?~~_

_Don't know. Lucifer smashed Cas and Crowley, then got me before I could hamstring him, distract him. Don't know what happened next. God, my head hurts._

_~~thanks to you, mine does, too, and now I feel banged up all over...~~_

_Hah. That's what you get, becoming besties with a demon stupid enough to try to fight Lucifer._

Dani opened her eyes, looked around wearily. Charlie was helping Dean sit up; aside from some confusion, he was in the best shape, she judged. Cas and Crowley were just beginning to stir. She stood up, feeling like someone had rolled over her with a Mack truck, shuffled into the kitchen, rummaged in the cupboard until she found some ibuprofen, swallowed two dry. She filled a glass of water and staggered back into the living room, ibuprofen bottle in hand.

Dean was holding Sam's limp body in his arms, staring at Cas, who was slowly working his way up into a sitting position, holding his head. Dani stepped over to Cas, shook out two pills, handed them and the glass to him. He took the glass and looked at the pills in his hand blankly.

"What are these?" he asked, puzzled.

"Take them. They'll make your body feel better."

He shifted his sapphire gaze to her and blinked, dazed. Then he looked back down at the pills, shrugged, and put them in his mouth.

"Tch. Drink some water, it'll help them go down." 

"Oh." He lifted the glass, drank some, coughed and sputtered. She had the feeling that he had never done this before.

She took the glass back, turned away to head to Crowley next. She saw, out of the corner of her eyes, Cas stand up and stagger to the circle of fire, hold his hands out. The fire shrank down, then disappeared. She didn't see what happened next, as she pulled Crowley's head into her lap, stroked his cheek.

_~~so. is pb all right?~~_

_What do you care?_

_~~um.~~_

He pried his eyes open, looked around, then looked up at her. He gave her a small smile, and said, very quietly, "Dani-girl, I may need to take a rain check on that little assignation we were talking about earlier..."

She laughed shakily, pulled him up to a sitting position leaning against her, and shook out two more pills. She handed them to him with the glass.

"My hero." He downed them with a swig of water, then closed his eyes, sighed, and leaned back against her more limply.

"Let's not do that again any time soon, shall we?" he murmured.

"No," she said, leaning her head on his. "I think we've all had enough adventure for a while."

***  
The pain had knocked him out, but he was back again. The pain abruptly seared through his body as someone pulled him into a sitting position, held him up. A hand gripped his chin, then patted his cheek urgently.

"Sam! Sammy! Talk to me, dammit! Are you all right?"

He put up a weak hand to push the hand patting him away, cracked his eyes open. Dean. Of course. He struggled to sit up a bit higher, then slumped back against the arms circling him.

"Dude. I feel like shit. Everything hurts," he muttered.

Dean laughed softly, and the arms around him tightened. He hissed at the pain, and Dean quickly loosened the hug.

"Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, didn't mean to hurt you more, man, just so damned glad to see you and have it be _you_ , y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah." He was quiet for a moment, drifting in and out, then pulled himself together to say, "We did it. Didn't we?"

"Yeah. Cas, get your ass over here, dammit!" Dean called out, looking away. He looked back. "We did it. You did it. What the hell did you do? The last I remember is you stepping in front of me, and then suddenly Lucy was crying like a baby about his dad and you were telling him what a shitty kid he was. What the hell was that all about?!?"

Cas was suddenly kneeling by him, eyes weary, eyebrows puckered in a frown. Sam automatically switched to other-sight, saw him as the blue-white flame, though much smaller now, saw Dean's compact human soul, saw the tendrils on the edges twining together--

He froze, snapped out of other-sight abruptly, caught his breath.

Cas was leaning forward, putting two fingers on his forehead. He felt the wounds in his shoulders and legs begin to knit back together, close up. It was always a very strange feeling, to be healed by Cas...

Other-sight. He still had other-sight. He closed his eyes, slumped back against Dean.

"So what did you do, anyway?" Dean asked again.

"Eh. Couldn't fight him. Gave him a taste of all my unhappy memories and feelings, all at once, instead." He was feeling better. The pain was receding rapidly, energy taking its place. He opened his eyes again, leaned forward, out of Dean's protective arms, turned to look at him. He laughed. "I think it was my memories of fighting with Dad all the time that really got him."

Dean made a face of agreement, nodded his head. "Dude's got real daddy issues," he said.

Sam laughed again. "Yeah. And he doesn't have friends or family supporting him, he's all alone..."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Lifetime movie mush."

Sam reached out, grabbed his arm, shook it, smiled at him. "Don't knock it. If I didn't have you...well. I don't know what kind of mess I'd be. You're always there, always have my back--"

Dean shifted uncomfortably, looked away, stood up. He held out his hand to help Sam up, saying, "Okay. Bro moment over, dude. Get up. Let's get a beer, have some food."

Sam stood up, looked around. Charlie was standing by Cas, talking to him softly. Cas was smiling down at her, nodding his head. On the other side of the room, beyond the smudged chalk sigils and bowls tilted on their sides, stood Crowley, arms around the strange woman, chin on her head. Dean moved into the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out a six-pack of bottles, came back in and started handing them out.

"What? No scotch?" Crowley grumbled, taking a beer.

"Deal with it," Dean said lightly, handed another to the woman, then moved on to Charlie.

Sam walked toward Crowley and the woman, grabbing a beer from Dean as he passed him. Crowley he didn't give a fuck about, but the woman...

He stopped, held out his hand. "I'm Sam Winchester."

She looked up at him, took his hand, shook it briskly, tilted her head up and back further. She said, "Whoa. You are extremely tall, y'know that?"

He smiled down at her. "I've heard it before."

Crowley drawled, "A bloody giraffe. Moose, this is Dani Lippmann, my...head research honcho."

Sam darted a narrow-eyed glance at Crowley. Crowley smiled lazily, lifting an amused eyebrow. Sam switched briefly to other-sight, saw the way their smoke knotted together at the edges. No accounting for taste. Then he switched back to normal vision, looked back down at Dani.

"Pleased to meet you, Dani. Thanks for helping out. Having everyone there--" He stopped, gritted his teeth, looked at Crowley. "--Even you, Crowley--" he added reluctantly. Crowley smiled wider, gave him a tiny bow. "--was what gave me the time to come up with something to get Lucifer. I understand you're something of an occult researcher...?"

***  
Charlie pulled Dani into the hallway a little later. "Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. We're having a proper Thanksgiving dinner. Cas arranged it. And I'm inviting you two."

Dani opened her mouth, closed it. "We'll see."

"Oh, come! It'll be fun! And we'll celebrate Sam being back!"

Dani smiled. "Maybe," she said. "Thanks for the invite." She walked over to Crowley, who was leaning against the wall in the living room, watching everything with a small smile tugging at his lips. She leaned against the wall next to him. He slid an arm around her, pulled her close.

"We're invited for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow," Dani murmured. He glanced down at her in surprise, eyebrows lifting. 

"Really?" he drawled. "How tiresome."

"And a welcome-back celebration..." she added.

He narrowed his eyes, looked across the room at Sam Winchester, who was standing with his brother and the handsome angel. He pursed his lips, and said, slowly, "I suppose that means we need to bring a gift. Ugh."

She poked him softly in the side. "We don't have to go, y'know. If you don't want to."

"Darling. I wouldn't miss it for the world." He looked back down at her, smiled in a different way. He lifted a hand, trailed the back of it across her cheek. "I seem to have recuperated remarkably, pet. Perhaps our assignation can be back on...?" She smiled back up at him, her cheek tingling. He slid the hand down to her neck, pulled her closer, bent his head. The kiss was long and languid. Then he drew in a breath, pushed her back against the wall, tangled his hand in her hair, kissed her harder.

"Hey! You two! Get a room, for God's sake!" Dean shouted.

"Excellent idea," Crowley answered. He snapped his fingers, and they vanished.


	26. Celebrate Me Home (Kenny Loggins)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy welcome home celebration!
> 
> * * *

"Davis! We need...hmmm...two bottles of champagne, plastic champagne glasses, cheery wrapping paper, ribbon to match, two flash drives...hmmm." Miss Dani turned around and called out, "Anything else?"

Crowley leaned his head out the bathroom suite door. "Cards. We need cards."

Miss Dani waved her hand. "Don't worry, I'll get those. In fact, I'll get the paper and ribbon, too." She smiled at him. "I think that's it, Davis."

He blinked at her. "Certainly, Miss Dani. Um...plastic champagne glasses? Are you certain?"

"We're going to a party at the Winchesters'. Plastic," she answered firmly.

He repeated, faintly, "A party. At the Winchesters'."

"Thanksgiving dinner."

"Thanksgiving dinner," he echoed her.

Crowley leaned out the bathroom suite door again, and snarled, "Don't faint, Davis! We definitely won't be making a habit of it!"

"I should hope _not_ , sir!" he responded stiffly, and exited the room, still stunned. A party. Crowley and Miss Dani were going to a _party_. At the _Winchesters'_. The world was coming to an end, surely.

***  
Cas and Charlie had driven out that morning, and returned with bags of stuff. There was a roast turkey with all the trimming. Biscuits. Some kind of vegetable side dish; Sam had peeked under the lid and still couldn't identify it. Cranberry sauce. A paper tablecloth with turkeys all over it. Paper plates and napkins in warm fall colors. 

Cas put the turkey, biscuits, and veggies into the oven to keep them warm. Charlie disappeared down the hall to her room with a bag.

Sam cornered Dean in the hallway.

"Dude. This is so weird. Have we ever had a Thanksgiving dinner before?"

Dean had snatched one of the biscuits before Cas put them in the oven, and was munching on it. Crumbs spilled down his chin; he ran his arm across it to get them off. He thought about it. "Yeah. Couple of times. That one time you did it as a date...once with Reverend Jim...once with Missouri. That's it, though."

Sam shook his head. "Weird. Nice. But weird. It's like we're...I dunno...trying to be normal people or something."

Normal. It looked like he was never going to be that. He had snuck off that morning, alone, gone outside and tested. The other-sight was there; he had looked up into the sky and the Van Allen Belt had mesmerized him with its flowing and bending; the trees around him had glowed dimly in the grey November daylight; and there were tiny knots of light scurrying around under the heaps of dead leaves covered with light snow. He thought they were mice. He had caused one heap of dead leaves to swirl up, shedding the snow and forming a cloud; then, he had let go and they had all dropped to the ground at once with a dry rustle. In his room, he had seen the electrical wiring (not much, it was just a vacation cabin and not well wired), and had pulled at it to make a skeletal glowing daisy.

But he felt no cravings. His skin didn't twitch and itch, his teeth didn't grind with need. A blessing. He'd just have to deal with his weird powers, and thank God nothing else had carried over.

"Sam. Helllooo, Sam!"

Dean was waving his hand in front of his face. Sam shook himself, said, "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Yeah, well, that's always dangerous. When's this shindig supposed to start, anyway?"

"Charlie said something about one o'clock, I think."

"Dibs on the shower!" Dean strode off to his room to grab clothes and a towel.

***  
When Crowley and Dani appeared by the door of the cabin, Sam grabbed Cas by the arm and asked, grimly, quietly, "Cas. Who invited that bastard?"

Cas sighed. "Charlie. She wanted Dani here, and I guess felt it was polite to invite them as a couple..."

Sam ground his teeth.

Cas and Charlie had cleared the dining table off, decked it out with the tablecloth, paper plates, and an odd assortment of silverware. The feast was spread out, an ancient, rickety carving knife and fork set had been found and were placed near the turkey.

"Champagne," Crowley announced, holding two bottles up. Dani placed a bag of plastic champagne glasses on the table, then put three cheerily wrapped gifts on the coffee table. There were other gifts there that had been smuggled out when he wasn't looking; Sam guessed they were from Cas and Charlie.

Crowley put one bottle down on the table, then expertly unwrapped the wiring on the other, eased the cork loose, and popped it.

Dean came out of the hallway, rubbing at his still wet hair. "Champagne? What about beer?" he groused.

Crowley snorted. "Some of us are civilized, Squirrel." Dani had put together six champagne glasses; Crowley poured carefully, then handed them out to everyone. He lifted his glass.

"A toast: To Moose and his safe return!"

They all lifted their glasses, went through the ritual of lightly tapping against each other's glasses, then drank. Cas sniffed his first, with interest, then sipped carefully. He blinked at the fizziness, then smiled and drank again.

"All right! Let's sit down!" Charlie said cheerily. "Who's going to carve?" They all looked at each other awkwardly. "Um. Anyone?" she added anxiously. Sam looked helplessly at Dean. He knew how to stick a knife in someone, or slice a throat, but thought he'd make a shambles of carving a turkey. Dean shrugged at him, made a face, spread his hands.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "No-one here knows how to carve a bird?!? Honestly. Shameful. I'll do it, since you all seem to be lacking in such a basic skill." He regarded the old carving set suspiciously, snapped his fingers to summon a new set, and got to work.

The food was passed around, champagne poured again, conversation flowed, and Sam realized that he was having a great time. Even with Crowley here. Actually, Crowley was being on his best behavior, charming and entertaining. It was unnerving.

Finally, everyone seemed filled, and the conversation was winding down. When one lull lasted a longer time, Charlie stood up. "Well! I think it's time for the gifts! Now, Sam, normally there are no gifts at Thanksgiving, it's just food and family and fun. But! Since this is also a celebration of you being back, and Lucifer being gone...wherever...we thought it would be nice to do some welcome-back gifts. So!" She darted over to the coffee table, grabbed the small pile of gifts, and brought them back, dumping them in front of Sam.

His face flamed. He opened his mouth, couldn't speak, then tried again. "Charlie...guys...you didn't have to do this. Just being back, being free, being with friends, family..." He looked around the table, dropping his eyes when they passed over Crowley. He was not family, not a friend. Not to him. But Cas? Charlie? For sure. And Dani seemed okay. His eyes stopped at Dean. Dean's eyes met his, and his brother smiled, winked, dipped his head.

Sam blinked back tears. That would embarrass Dean way too much. He reached out and grabbed a gift at random. It was one of the ones Dani and Crowley had brought; he looked at the card and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"This isn't for me. It's for you, Charlie." He reached down the table, handed it to her. She took it from him, exclaiming, "For me?!?" She nervously tucked her hair back behind her ears, pulled out the card, read it, and looked down the table at Dani, smiling. "'For Charlie--tagged, indexed, categorized, searchable'--oh em gee, it's the archive, all nicely packaged and sorted and databased, right?!?" She ripped the paper off, opened the small box, and pulled out a flash drive stick, held it up triumphantly. "Woot!"

Dani smiled back at her. "It's the least I could do. Just make sure you make a backup." She looked at Sam, nodded to the other small wrapped gift. "There's one for you, too. From one researcher to another." Sam smiled, feeling absurdly delighted. That would be invaluable as a tool to deal with new and strange creatures and situations.

The next gift was from Charlie. He shook it suspiciously, looking down the table at her. She grinned back. He pulled out the card, read it aloud: "For Christmas. Welcome back, Charlie." He opened it, and groaned. Charlie laughed. He pulled out a gaudily over-decorated Christmas sweater, held it up for everyone to see. Laughs erupted.

"Dear heavens," Crowley breathed, impressed. "That is a...treasure beyond price. So...amazingly awful!"

"Isn't it?" Charlie crowed. "I just had to get it!"

"Damn, Charlie. That's...that's...I have no words," Dean said, staring at it open-mouthed.

Sam laughed, put it down, reached for the next gift. He opened the card, drew a breath, hesitated. "Welcome back, Moose, xoxo, Crowley," he read out. He slowly unwrapped it, shooting a dark glance at Crowley. Crowley just smiled innocently. He opened the box to discover...a delicately carved wooden moose. He blinked, looked at Crowley again. Just a rather nice gift. He was perplexed. Crowley shrugged, raised an eyebrow. He pulled it out, displayed it for everyone's appreciation.

Cas had given him a book about Gandhi. Sam smiled gratefully at him; he had had a number of talks about Gandhi with Cas, and Cas had remembered how much the man meant to him. 

The last gift was from Dean. The card--a lame Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo thing that was for a kid's birthday, was simply signed, "Welcome back, dude." When he unwrapped it, he stopped, drew a stunned breath, looked at Dean. It was a multiple picture frame, with separate pictures of Mom, Dad, Dean, him, a picture of them all together when Sam was a baby, then additional photos: Ellen, Jo, Cas, Bobby, Rufus, Kevin. Carefully hand-lettered was the saying, "Family don't end in blood." Sam held it, looked at it, speechless. He realized he was weeping.

Dean groaned, then growled, "Dude. Don't make a big deal out of it. Just something I threw together."

Sam bit his lip, nodded, wiped his face with his arm, and handed it to Dani to pass around.

She looked at it, said a soft, moved, "Oh!", and passed it on. Everyone had a reaction, even Crowley. In fact, his was the most interesting; he held the frame, looked at it for quite a while, then his lips twisted and he looked at Dean narrowly, nodded. Dean nodded solemnly back at him. Something was behind that, but Sam had no idea what.

Then Dean was standing up, brushing his hands together. "Okay, now it's time for the best part: pie!" He went into the kitchen and emerged with a pumpkin pie, went back in for a pecan pie, went back yet again and came out with some kind of berry pie and a can of whipped cream.

Many slices of pie and more glasses of champagne later, Crowley pulled Dani up, and they cheerily said their goodbyes and vanished. Just before they disappeared, Crowley caught Sam's eyes and smiled toothily, his own eyes glinting.

Dean and Cas started cleaning up. Charlie lounged on the sofa and turned the TV on to an old swashbuckler movie. Sam grabbed his jacket and stepped outside for some fresh air.

Walking in the dark, under the stars, with the full moon shining down, he realized he felt happy. And loved. And free. The Mark of Cain was gone, Lucifer was out of his body, Cas was a full angel again. He and Dean and Cas and Charlie were together again.

Life was good.


	27. EPILOGUE:  Bad Moon Rising (Credence Clearwater Revival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another gift for Sam appears...
> 
> * * *

When he came back in the cabin, all was quiet. The TV was still going, but Charlie was curled up on her side asleep, hands tucked under her chin, snoring very softly. All the lights but one were out. Sam carefully pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa, draped it over Charlie's sleeping form, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She stirred, muttered something, then curled tighter. He smiled, and headed down the hallway.

Soft light poured out of Dean's room. He poked his head in. Dean was stretched out on the bed on his back, hands behind his head on the pillow, earphones in.

"I'm turning in," Sam said.

Dean started, cracked his eyes open, pulled the earphones off.

"Hunh?"

"Bed. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, yeah, you do that," Dean said. He laid there looking at Sam for a moment, then gave him a wry, fond smile and a thumbs-up. Sam returned the thumbs-up, smiled back, and continued down the hallway.

His room was dark. He searched around in the dim light from the hall for a lamp, found it, turned it on. He closed the door, yawned, stretched.

Something on the top of the dilapidated dresser caught his eye. He wandered over, curious.

A box in cheery wrapping paper. A card. Another gift?

He pulled out the card, opened it.

"Thought you might appreciate a little pick-me-up. Love and kisses, C." The "C" had a little stylized crown sketched atop it, tilting drunkenly.

He frowned, stared at the cheerily wrapped gift as if it would bite him. Then he drew in a determined breath, picked the box up, sat down on the bed, and slowly began unwrapping it. He opened the box, looked in.

Nestled in a bed of soft black velvet was a silver flask engraved with a riot of roses peeping out from behind leaves and vines twining around. The bigger, more open roses had little skulls in the centers, with tiny black enamel eyes. A small card hung from the neck of the flask, tied on with a blood-red silk ribbon.

Sam flicked the card open with his fingertips.

"Call me when you need more, darling. Xoxo, C." Again with the little crown sketch.

Not "if". "When".

He hissed in a breath. He knotted one hand in the threadbare quilt on the bed, twisting it hard. Then he reached in, pulled the flask out, uncapped it, sniffed.

Salty. Sweet. Warm. 

Blood.

The craving slammed into him.

He recapped the flask with trembling fingers, laid it carefully down on the quilt, then abruptly, angrily, swept the box off his lap, flinging it across the room. Black velvet tumbled out as it flew through the air, landing in a dark puddle of fabric on the floor. He rocked forward, resting his arms on his thighs, tangling his hands in his hair, eyes clenched shut. He rocked forward again, slamming his feet on the floor.

He sat there for a long, long while, despairing.

Then he opened his eyes, slid them to the side to look at the flask. He licked his lips in a tiny, involuntary gesture. He reached out, picked it back up, uncapped it...hesitated...then lifted it to his lips.


End file.
